


Into The Unknown

by Faiakishi



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Asexual Daud (Dishonored), Dad Daud, Daud makes everyone drink Respect Women juice, Fuck Burrows AU, Jessamine is a supreme mom, Royal Spymaster Daud (Dishonored), The Whalers become the new Tower guards, royal OT3, you know while respecting ace people
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-02-19 11:13:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 24,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22776856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Faiakishi/pseuds/Faiakishi
Summary: Daud is suspicious of Burrows' latest plot. Only this time, he does something about it.This is the 'Royal Spymaster Daud' AU where Corvo and Jessamine team up to bang him together. And they all parent each other's children. Meanwhile Billie is busy being a ho. Equal parts epic and ridiculous.
Relationships: Corvo Attano/Daud, Corvo Attano/Daud/Jessamine Kaldwin, Corvo Attano/Jessamine Kaldwin, Daud & Billie Lurk | Meagan Foster, Daud & The Whalers (Dishonored), Daud/Jessamine Kaldwin
Comments: 31
Kudos: 134





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Is the title a Frozen II reference? Fuck you, I had no idea what else to name it. Seeing how this word document has been affectionately titles 'sluts' in my Google Drive for the half a year it's sat there I'm happy I came up with a name at all. Just be glad I didn't use a Game of Thrones reference. You don't want to KNOW how long I searched YouTube for song titles to use.
> 
> Warnings for gross sexism and racism and some descriptions of theoretical sexual assault.

Billie returns early, with a stony expression to conceal the storm brewing behind her eyes.

* * *

It was just another job.

That’s what he told himself. Just one more contract, assigned by that cold-blooded, squirrelish Spymaster. One more stopped heart. One more corpse in the river. One more bag of coin in his pocket.

It should make no difference to him whose name Burrows writes on that solid line, Daud thinks as he pages through his book, too anxious to do anything else as he waits. Another scheming noble, a jilted mistress, an overly ambitious politician. An Empress. The name shouldn’t matter, only the number promised in return. And that number is high, high enough to make the job worth the risk, and Daud knows Burrows is good for it. That should be all that mattered.

An Empress shouldn’t matter to him.

Daud looks up to the wall of marks, portraits tacked up on the board, pins shoved into each of their corners. Their eyes bore down on him. A man should face his own music, he told his subordinates who questioned why he’d want to look at them every day. He’s under no illusions about the type of people his marks are. No doubt some of them were decent, but many weren’t. Still, they were people. Daud owes it to them to look at their faces, to remember the lives he snuffed out. What kind of man would he be if he shied away from that, from the reality of his own actions?

Jessamine Kaldwin stares at him from the corner of the board. Her portrait is three times the size of any others-which Daud thought was only fitting, as her blood was worth more than any of them. She’s circled, but not yet crossed out. Her eyes are drawn hollow and colorless, yet they seem to watch him. They see right through him, never letting up for a second. They ask him all the questions he doesn’t want to answer.

It shouldn’t matter.

Daud knows better than to hold opinions about any ruler. When it came down to it, they were all the same. People born at the top of the food chain and never thought to look down. People who only wanted for themselves, who wielded power like a whip because it made them feel better about themselves. People who didn’t give a fig for people like Daud, people like his Whalers. They were just the mules that bore the weight of their society, who carried it forward. People like her, they wrung out every bit of blood and sweat they could from people like him, and when they stumbled they were put down with nary a sniff in their direction. Left abandoned by the side of the road, never to be remembered. Emperors and Empresses only saw them as tools, garbage when they were no longer useful. Jessamine Kaldwin should be no different.

She wasn’t, he told himself. He’d heard a thousand things about the Empress on the streets, just like he heard a thousand things about her father before her, about Duke Theodonis Abele back in Serkonos. He’d heard many things about the last Empress, Larisa Olaskir, as well, but Daud was only six when she was killed and by the time he was old enough to understand what was being talked about people had mostly stopped whispering about her. But it was all the same, it the end. The same things whispered about her successor, about the Duke. About Jessamine Kaldwin. 

She was kind. 

She was cold.

She was a fair leader. 

She was a tyrant. 

She loved her subjects and treated them as if they were her children. 

She bathed in the blood of her maids to keep herself beautiful and her daughter was fathered by the Outsider himself.

Her daughter, that was the real reason why he hesitated. Little Emily Kaldwin, only nine years old. Daud has a ‘no children’ policy. All his Whalers know it. No taking contracts for kids, no using them for their own ends. No recruiting anyone who hadn’t hit puberty yet. Children were never to be considered collateral damage; they were to be avoided or knocked unconscious if necessary. He’d never berate a Whaler for wasting a sleep dart on a child. He took kidnapping contracts involving actual children very rarely, and would only accept if it was truly in the child’s best interest. Daud does horrible things, but he refuses to hurt children. That’s his line. His final line. That’s what keeps him from becoming like...like…

But Emily Kaldwin will not be in danger, he tells himself. Burrows only means to hide her away for a few months, as a political move. The girl will be Empress. They can’t mistreat her. She will be kept safe, fed and cared for. It might actually be better to take her out of the public eye for a while after her mother’s death, give her time to mourn without having to take on her new responsibilities right away. Let her be a nine-year-old girl who’s lost her mother instead of an Empress assuming the throne.

He didn’t hurt kids, no, but he’s plucked them out of bad situations before. Children of marks who’d be both orphaned and homeless if he left them there. Kids starving on the streets, some with parents waiting for them back at home, parents who would greet them with an outstretched palm and a belt in their other hand. Little boys in cages in Overseer compounds, awaiting their Trials, clutching rag dolls and crying for their mommies and daddies, some of whom the Overseers had murdered right before their eyes. Some he took in, gave them menial, easy chores to fulfill in exchange for their bed and meals and when they were older, he gave them a choice. Some he just passed on to someone else, pawned them off on relatives or friendly neighborhood old ladies with lonely, empty nests. Emily wouldn’t be so different.

And why would he care so much even if it was different? One spoiled princess who would grow up to be another careless, self-centered ruler. She wasn’t like that yet, true, but there was no other way for this to turn out for her. They all ended up like that. Why should he care about one nine-year-old girl, when her mother was perfectly content to let dozens of children like her rot? Children who would have starved, frozen, been raped and beaten and worked to death if someone else had come along before Daud had? Who would have died if Daud hadn’t taken them in? Jessamine Kaldwin wouldn’t have cared. She was an Empress, and her daughter was a princess. The girls and boys that Daud fed and clothed, they were just her subjects. Mules that couldn’t pull the weight. She didn’t care about them, so why should Daud care about her daughter?

(He sees his own hand, undersized and clutched in the grasp of another, of long, skinny fingers, a grip that was warm when Daud first took his hand but quickly turned ice-cold. He follows along, his curiosity turning to fear, then dread. He tries to pull away but the man holds tight, and he keeps walking, keeps pulling him along, and Daud makes a fist and starts smashing the fingers that hold him, tries to make the man let go, only it doesn’t work and he begins to cry, screams, and the people around them don’t pay him a lick of attention as he begs to be let go, that he’s sorry for not listening to his mother, for skipping school and going off with a stranger, he knows he’s been bad but he’s sorry and will listen now and he wants to go  _ home  _ he wants his mother let him go back to his mother-)

He shouldn’t feel guilty about what he’s going to do to Emily Kaldwin. She’s just another piece on the chessboard. Her age is not important.

This is just another job, he tells himself as he meets Jessamine Kaldwin’s soulless gaze. Just another dead woman. Just another orphaned child. Just another contract. Just another job.

But it wasn’t.

* * *

Billie returns early, with a stony expression to conceal the storm brewing behind her eyes.

There are a great many things that Daud appreciates about Billie Lurk. She took to their life quickly, desperately, like swinging a knife was as natural to her as breathing. Within the year she proved to be one of the most adept fighters Daud’s ever seen. She’d earned her name every night since she first followed him back to his hideout, untrained and ungraceful as she was, so silent and stealthy that he wouldn’t have even known she was there if he wasn’t Daud. He might not have believed she was sixteen then, with her height being more suited to a girl of twelve and a flat chest where teenage girls should have grown breasts by then, except Daud had known enough street kids to have seen what starvation does to them. He could see her brittle, thinning hair, her bones showing clearly through her skin, the gauntness in her face, and he knew that Billie was telling the truth. She hadn’t known how to read then. Had only known her numbers as far as she needed to puzzle out the coin needed to buy her dinner. She came to him knowing only how to sneak, to hide, to listen-and sometimes how to swing her little paring knife, how to hurt someone trying to hurt her, how to be mean in order to be left alone.

She flourished when Daud took her in. The meals she took with the other Whalers were twice the size, twice as frequent as the meals she had while on her own, and Daud held a secret, guilty pleasure in feeding her. He snuck extra food to Whalers all the time-starving kids who needed to make up for lost meals, who needed to calories to grow-but it was different with Billie. He saved rich meats and juicy fruits and nut-studded loaves of bread just to watch Billie wolf it all down in the privacy of his office. Watching her eat gave him a sense of satisfaction that felt almost sinful. He watched Billie grow a foot in the span of a fortnight, it seemed, watched her hair grow in thick and curly, watched her face fill out and her shoulders grow broad. He watched her learn her letters, taking to the written word nearly as well as she took to the training blade Daud had given her. He watched her learn how to count properly, how to add and subtract and even multiply. She mastered the basics quickly, and soon Julian, who Daud had placed as the teacher to the younger recruits and those without basic education, had exhausted his lesson plans with her and hadn’t the time to instruct her further. Daud took her education on himself from there. He had her read textbooks and debated her on what she learned, how it could be useful. He taught her how to read maps efficiently, how to keep them in her head. He watched her take apart corpses, pointing out points of weakness, spots that could be exploited during her work. It was important for her to know how the body sustained life if she were to end it, he told her.

And she lapped it all up. Because, above all else, Billie is curious. She listens, wants to hear all sides of a story. He taught her from books and from experience and Billie listened to it all with rapt attention because her mind hungered for knowledge in the way her body once hungered for food. She listens to Daud’s orders and questions them, every one of them-which Daud was insulted by, at first, until he realized that Billie wasn’t doing it for the sake of insolence. She wanted to hear Daud’s reasonings because she wanted to  _ understand.  _ She wanted to know why he made every call, the motives behind every judgement. In time, she grew comfortable enough to debate him on them as well. He couldn’t be mad. He taught her to question authority, so what kind of hypocrite would he be if he didn’t expect her to question his? So he always sated her curiosity, always made sure that she understood. Because once she understood, even if she didn’t agree with him, she always obeyed him in the end. So taking the time to talk things through with her, make her understand his point of view, has never bothered him. It’s even helpful now, with her throwing curveballs at him and questioning his calls, making him check himself. Talking with her makes him better, makes him  _ feel  _ better. And it makes her better as well.

And that’s why he had to send her. Billie is insatiably curious, so even though she seems to have zero problems with taking this contract, she still wonders why Burrows gave it to them. She wants to know why Burrows wants the Empress dead all of a sudden, when he’s sent Daud and his Whalers to kill so many of her enemies before. What had she done to bring it upon her?

Or, more likely, what was  _ Burrows  _ doing?

She bristled up when Daud voiced his own concerns, but he wasn’t disappointed in her for not foreseeing them. She’s still young, only twenty-three. Daud’s caution came from years of experience, and his suspicion was almost a disadvantage at times-would be, if they weren’t in this line of work. The questions would come to her in time, as she got older and saw more, learned more. One day she’ll be able to see all the possible threats that may or may not be lurking in the water, without him pointing out the ripples where they might surface. Daud doesn’t know how to feel about that.

After he brings it up, she agrees that it’s suspect. An Empress’s death will be heavily investigated, as will the abduction of her daughter and heir to her throne. And as Spymaster, Burrows will spearhead the investigation.

They’ve taken out high-profile clients before, and Daud has no problem with putting his name to them. But Burrows is cautious, and paranoid to a fault. His contracts are often twofold, charging Daud with a murder and then fabricating circumstances. Sometimes they’re staged to look like accidents. Sometimes they’re staged to frame another one of Burrows’ enemies for the murder. Sometimes he’s fine with the world knowing Daud made the kill, but has him plant evidence to suggest that another rival had hired him for the job. Many of those people have actually contracted him before-those jobs are some of Daud’s favorites.

But there’s nothing here. No rival to blame, no fall guy to pin the plot on. 

Daud knows Burrows too well to believe that. There’s always a fall guy with him.

Billie caught on to his suggestion before he’d even voiced it. It made perfect sense, she agreed. They know Burrows is good for the gold he’s promised. But why bother paying them if he could avoid it?

What use will he have of Daud and his Whalers, after they’ve taken out the largest player of them all? Burrows will be at the top then. He’ll have no reason to send assassins to do his dirty work for him. Untouchable by everyone...save for the people who knocked off the woman who sat at the top before him.

The threat they pose aside, they’re a loose end. The only people alive who would know the truth behind Jessamine Kaldwin’s death, the only people who could unmake him. He could shut them up with coin, yes, but why do that when he could shut them up as part of the move that will win him an Empire?

There was always a fall guy with Burrows. And it would serve him to make Daud take the fall for his final contract.

That’s the real reason he was uncomfortable with this, he told himself while he sat in his office, waiting for Billie to return. Burrows was so clearly hiding something, and that something would prove to be Daud’s undoing. It would end him, end the Whalers, end everything he’s worked for. Both good and bad. And that’s why he had to send Billie to find out the truth.

Billie is perfect for this. Curious enough to keep digging, not satisfied until she has every piece of the puzzle uncovered. She’ll return with enough information to sate even Daud’s curiosity, if it was ever possible in the first place. And she lives up to her name. Billie can slip into a noble’s house, shuffle through their desks and drawers while they’re asleep in their beds just feet away, a silent shadow who leaves no trace of her presence behind. But when that doesn’t serve, she takes off her mask and listens. Billie is perfectly suited for that kind of work as well-young and dark-skinned, she looked like the scores of Pandyssian descendants walking around, cheap workers who kept the mines running off the stoop of their backs and the factories oiled with their blood. She looked like the girls who filled the seedier brothels where Watch officers only bothered to stick their heads in to collect bribes, the ones more Gristolian girls avoided because they could find work elsewhere, the ones where girls that looked like Billie Lurk lived short, empty lives and met early ends often at the hands of men who paid for the pleasure, whose bodies were tossed into the trash and forgotten. People took one look at Billie and lumped her together with every other Pandyssian street waif they saw, and paid her about as much mind from then on as they did the dirt on their boots. 

And Billie knows how to use this to her advantage. She can make herself invisible while standing directly in front of someone, walk with her head down and her shoulders hunched just so to pass beneath notice. When she talks, she can act. (Daud likes to call it her ‘silver mask’ that she puts on, which annoys Billie to no end. Overseers have  _ golden  _ masks, she’d remind him, but Daud grew up in Serkonos where the Overseers wore silver, where they didn’t have that chilling, false smile carved into the mouths, when he could still believe that the person under the mask was capable of selfless kindness or unrepentant cruelty. That’s what he feels when Billie puts on one of her faces, when she pretends to be someone other than Daud’s right hand) She can chat up anyone from the burly dock workers to the tired maids working in nobles homes, from bored lawyers to even Overseers. She can sidle up to them and seem like a close friend, and in minutes she’ll have them ranting and spilling all sorts of secrets to her. And when that won’t serve, she can simply freeze and make herself unseen. She has a knack for listening, for finding the one voice that will tell her what she wants to hear.

And that’s why Daud set Billie to this task. Because Billie wants to unravel the mystery just as much as Daud does, if for no other reason than she likes unraveling mysteries, and he has as much faith in her ability to uncover the truth as his own.

They both agree that Burrows can’t be stupid enough to hide evidence of his treason in his quarters at Dunwall Tower, so Billie goes to search his estate out in the Cloud District. Daud waits behind, switching between pretending to read his book until he gets tired of reading the same passage over and over and pouring over the map of Dunwall Tower, swallowing the anxiety that wells up in his throat and silences the questions that rattle around his head.

They’ll still carry out the job, he tells himself. He’s already accepted, so he might as well make plans. He’s only apprehensive about Burrows. He’s an assassin. He doesn’t take sides in political squabbles. The death of an Empress is nothing to him.

Billie returns early, with a stony expression to conceal the storm brewing behind her eyes.

Daud is swift on his feet. “What happened?”

Billie just stares. She looks tired there, almost defeated-but Daud knows her too well to believe that. He knows the way she curls her fingers when she’s angry, the way she sets her lips when she’s determined. The way her eyes alight like the fires she means to set, when she intends to burn the whole world down.

Finally, Billie shakes her head. And holds out a single audiograph punchcard.

Daud takes it from her without hesitation, examines it. It’s from Burrows’ stock, but there’s no date or title written neatly on the line. One she recorded herself. Or...a copy.

Billie only watches as Daud pushes it into his own audiograph machine, hearing the  _ click  _ as the card begins to feed into the receiver. There’s the sound of feedback, and then Hiram Burrows’ nasally voice begins to play.

Daud’s mouth goes drier and drier as he listens. Billie only continues to stare. Brewing.

At the end of the tape here’s some more feedback, and the sound of murmuring beyond recognition. Daud eventually reaches forward and turns the audiograph machine off himself, his fingers numb to the metal.

Billie and he stare at each other for a long moment, a million unspoken words flowing unsaid. Finally, Billie opens her mouth.

“If you won’t kill him,” she says, low as thunder. “I will.”

* * *

She’d told him not to bother going. “Just stick him in the gut and be done with it,” she had said, slamming the books she’d been rearranging to let him know she was angry. “Or take his damn money and then kill him. Why you’re choosing to draw this out is beyond me.”

Daud finds himself wishing he’d taken Billie’s suggestion. But he’s the one who always insists on knowing what they’re getting into. So he finds himself here, sinking into an overstuffed leather chair in the basement of the Office of the High Overseer.

“Wine?” High Overseer Campbell presses a glass into his hand without waiting for a response. Daud nods in thanks, but makes no move to drink. 

Burrows drains his own glass in seconds, and refills from the bottle himself. He doesn’t meet Daud’s eye.

“Thank you for meeting with me,” Daud begins.

Campbell laughs, a bit of his wine sloshing over the rim. “Why, you don’t charge by the hour, do you? If so, I’m afraid I don’t have my coinpurse on me.”

“He gets paid by the job,” Burrows says sullenly. He’s dealt with Daud enough, seen his ‘polite professional’ veneer drop too many times to be fooled. “And he won’t see a single coin until it’s done.”

“Our agreement is half-”

“That was the old agreement!” Burrows snaps.

He tosses the rest of his wine back, then leans forward to fill his glass again. Campbell only smiles at Daud, somewhat nervously. Daud doesn’t normally work directly with Campbell-which he would thank the black-eyed bastard for, if he hadn’t learned his lesson about doing so long ago. He and Burrows may plot together, but Burrows does the talking and handles the finances. Daud’s interactions with Campbell have always been short, to the point, and nothing so dignified as to be worth repeating.

“What Hiram means to say,” Campbell starts. “This is just...a very large number we’re talking about.”

“Are you able to pay me or not?”

“Of course!” Campbell chuckles. “Of  _ course  _ we have the funds. It’s just, well, even half the payment is easily what you make from a regular contract.”

It’s what they’d make from a month’s worth of contracts, on a particularly busy month. “Are you implying that I can’t be trusted to keep my side of the bargain?”

“We’re not accusing  _ you  _ of anything.”

“You run with a squabble of street rats,” Burrows says, setting his wine glass down at last. “Who’s to say some of  _ them  _ might not decide that the risk is too great, that they’d be better served taking the advance and fleeing the city? The men at your back are no persons of refinement, I’m afraid. Not such as yourself.”

_ Scoundrels who waste their days in filth and drink. _

“Women,” Daud gets out. “My Whalers are made up of men and women. Some are highborn as well.”

“And therein lies the problem.” Campbell nods, that smug smile still on his face. “It’s in a woman’s nature to be deceptive. I know you consider yourself a sort of progressiveist, but even you can’t change the reality.”

“A woman’s role is different from ours,” Burrows drawls, rolling his wine around in his glass. “Equal, but separate. That order is what runs society. No good can come from deviating from it.”

Daud sets his wineglass aside and rubs his temples. “Can we discuss business?”

“We are,” Burrows replies coolly. “I’m explaining to you why you will be paid in full upon completion of the contract, and not a moment before.”

He’s already drunk. Daud prefers Burrows sober. Nervous, pacing, jumping at his own shadow. He’s too relaxed now. Too used to him. Burrows is no longer afraid of Daud, and he’s completely unaware that he should be.

“Alright,” Daud says. “Then let’s talk plans.”

“That’s what I’m paying you for.” Burrows dismisses him with a wave of his hand.

Daud presses his lips together. “You always want things done a certain way.”

“And this time I’m giving you free reign! Some  _ artistic license,  _ if you will.” Burrows sips, smiling slightly around the glass. “Besides, I won’t pretend to know your job better than you. The job will be difficult enough, I wager, without me butting into it.”

Very true. If only he had adopted that mindset earlier.

“So there’s no specifics you want me to abide by,” Daud says slowly.

Burrows nods. “As long as Jessamine is dead and the Lady Emily is delivered to me unharmed.” He sits up straighter. “No, I do have one guideline. Before the Royal Protector returns, it must be done.”

“The Royal Protector is gone?” Daud asks. He knew he was, of course-Daud has eyes and ears everywhere. But the general population was not supposed to know that the Royal Protector was away, that the Empress was unguarded.

(“People will think you’re stupider than you are,” he had said, ruffling Daud’s hair. His fingers would catch and would tug at the strands for a short, painful moment, but Daud knew better than to show he felt it. “And sometimes it serves to make them think they’re right.”)

It would not serve to let Burrows and Campbell know how much he knew.

“He’s departed on a fool’s mission,” Campbell grins, though Burrows looks away with a scowl on his face. “Sailing around the Isles, begging for aid. He won’t be due back until the twentieth day of Earth.”

“Shouldn’t the Royal Protector stay with the Empress? That sounds like more of a job for  _ you.” _

“It was my idea!” Burrows blusters. “You should be grateful. I did it to make  _ your  _ job easier.”

“I see,” Daud says in a clipped tone. “Well, unfortunately, our current plan would require us to wait until-”

“What would you have to  _ wait  _ for? She’s one woman!”

“The most heavily guarded and watched woman in the Empire,” Daud corrects. “My second has looked over the maps, and she’s concerned about blind spots. The lack thereof, specifically.”

“I can order the guards away from their posts, if need be.”

“That’s kind of you, but there’s always room for mistakes, isn’t there? You summon the guard, but one guardsman was napping during the order, another hands his post off to a friend just to be safe…”

Burrows stares at him with cold eyes. “Then kill them,” he says bluntly.

“You’d have me kill your own guards?” Daud feigns shock.

“Their deaths will be meaningless compared to that of the Empress.” Burrows flicks his hand.

“Be that as it may,” Daud starts up again, but Burrows interrupts him.

“When would  _ you  _ move, then? Or more likely, when would your  _ second  _ tell you to move?”

Daud bites his tongue. “She believes that a golden opportunity will present itself in the following month, during the harvest feast.”

“The harvest feast?!”

“Yes. As you recall, the Tower is heavily decorated. It will be one of the last events warm enough to walk comfortably outside, yet most of the guests will be inside enjoying the feast. Most of the guards will be intoxicated. My second believes that if Jessamine Kaldwin can be lured outside, we can exploit the lapse in security and have her cold by the time anyone realizes she’s missing.”

His second had said no such thing, of course. If she’d wanted to carry out this job while the Empress was on stage with the entirety of Dunwall looking on, she’d figure out a way.

“And do you always do what you  _ second  _ tells you?” Burrows fumes.

“I ask her opinion and plan accordingly.”

“My answer is  _ no,  _ Daud. Jessamine Kaldwin must die before the Royal Protector’s return.”

Of course. The security can’t be lax during the assassination. That ran the possibility of someone not seeing Daud kill Jessamine Kaldwin, of the only evidence of his crime being Burrows’ word. Which might be enough to take Daud’s head, but the seeds would be planted.

And the longer Jessamine Kaldwin is allowed to live, the more time she has to uncover the true source of the plague. Of course Burrows wants her dead as soon as possible.

“My second thinks-”

“Your second’s a woman,” Campbell declares. “Empty-headed, too uptight for her own good. She needs a good fucking, that’s what I say. That should loosen her up. Perhaps you should try that.”

“Perhaps you should make your own plans,” Burrows sneers, sipping from his wine. “Instead of relying on a woman to do it for you. What do women know of such things?”

“What was your second’s name again?” Campbell strokes his chin. “Bella? Betty?”

Daud grits his teeth. “Billie.”

“She even takes a man’s name.” Campbell rolls his eyes. “But she’s not a man, no matter how much either of you seem to wish it.”

“That’s her name, whether you like it or not.” Billie hates her name. She wouldn’t have willingly chosen it.

“Forgive me, but could it be she is stalling?” Burrows examines his fingernails. “Her feminine instincts must be kicking in, and she feels the urge to protect the woman. And the girl.”

“You said Lady Emily would not be harmed.”

“And she won’t be.” Burrows holds his arms out, smiling. “But I think, with so many  _ women  _ among your ranks, this could be considered a conflict of interest. Perhaps it’s better if you leave this job to the men.”

“In the meantime, you can send the girls to me,” Campbell chuckles, putting his lips to his wine. “I’ve always wanted to fuck a concubine of the Outsider.”

This is why he hates dealing with Campbell. Burrows is many things: a coward, a crook, a complete prick. There’s a cold sort of cruelty to him.

Campbell is the opposite. He delights in pain. He enjoys causing it. Burrows is cruel because there was never something in him that told him not to be. Campbell is cruel simply because he likes it.

“We’ve been over this before,” Daud says slowly, staring him down. “My Whalers are not for sale.”

“No. Just for rent.”

Daud keeps his face neutral in spite of the heat creeping up his neck. “Their blades,” he says.

“Their swords need an arm to swing them, and the arm needs a shoulder, which connects to the...oh, you get my meaning.” Campbell smirks. “I’m sure some of them won’t even mind.”

“Some of them are underage.”

“That doesn’t bother me.”

Daud fingers curl into the chair. “My Whalers are not whores.”

“This has gotten out of hand,” Burrows says, and Daud relaxes into his chair. “This is a serious matter, Daud. Leash in that second of yours and get the job done.”

“Second,” Campbell snorts. “More like wife. A wife who nags and bitches endlessly, and he just bows to her will.”

Daud just sits there, his face remaining blank.

“You know what I’d do, Daud?” Campbell leans forward, his cheeks flushes pink. “She considers herself stiff, but bend her over your desk and I’d wager she’d bend to you all the easier.” 

“If I had only done that with the Empress,” Burrows bemoans, sipping from his glass. “We’d all be in a much different place now.”

“Women must know their place,” Campbell agrees. “She might fancy hers to be by your side, but we all know that her true place is on your cock. She knows it too.”

“But you have to remind her.” 

“That’s the trouble with women, they’re too stupid to remember their own nature.” Campbell drinks deeply. “You have to teach them their place and reinforce the lesson. Give her to me if you don’t have the stomach for it.”

“I can’t begin to list all the reasons why that won’t be happening.”

“And why not? I’ll give her back.” Campbell gropes at his groin, smirking. “I’ll train her for you. Right in here, in fact, you can come watch me fuck her on the nights you get lonely.”

“Is she a pretty one?” Burrows slurs. “She’s always had that ridiculous mask on. Do you keep all your women covered so only you can look at them? Or is she just so ugly she can’t stand to have her face seen?”

“Her face doesn’t matter. Flip them over and it could be anyone under you. Imagine what you like.”

“Billie would kill you,” Daud says bluntly.

“Oh, I’ve had feisty ones before.” Campbell points behind him, where Daud can see nothing of note besides some cushions. “Chain them up and put a rope around their necks, they get tired of choking themselves right quick. You might have to take a whip to a girl like her a few times, but they all break in the end.”

Burrows raises his wine glass. “Pain doesn’t break them all. Daud’s girls are likely used to pain by now.”

“Are they used to cocks? The really difficult ones, I take them up to the interrogation chambers and strap them down for a day or so. They’re usually much more docile after being used a few dozen times.”

“Careful,” Burrows mumbles as he sips. “Give men a new toy and they’ll break it before long.”

“Men can show restraint if they feel compelled to. That’s the difference between men and hounds. I’ve made that mistake before.”

“That’s disgusting.” Burrows doesn’t seem perturbed in the slightest.

Campbell shrugs. “It’s hard work, teaching whores their place.” Campbell turns back to Daud. “How about this, Daud? You can have your half up front, but you sell your second to me for the duration.”

“Collateral.” Burrows nods in agreement.

“Yes, that too. I have my fun, Burrows gets his little girl and a dead Empress, and you’ll get a trained whore out of the deal. Frankly, you should be paying us.”

“That won’t be necessary.” Daud rises. “I’ll take my payment when we deliver the girl. I’ll contact you with further details.”

They’ve sealed their own fates.

* * *

Complaining is too simple. No, Billie Lurk can’t simply complain to convey her anger. She has to get it in through a series of barbed jabs, sarcastically veiled insults, and an obscene amount of melodramatic brooding.

Through it all, she maintains that she is not mad at Daud.

“You’re the boss,” she says in a clipped tone, turned away so she can watch the yard. “What you say goes.”

Daud huffs as he checks behind them, ensuring no guards have popped up within hearing distance below. “Do you think it would be better if we went around the pavilion, or stick to the carriage house?”

_ “I  _ think we should turn around and go home. But what I think doesn’t matter. I’m just your subordinate here.”

“Billie-”

She disappears in a flash of black before he can get another word out. Daud transverses away himself, trusting Billie to get herself to their destination no matter which route she had picked.

It turns out she chose the same route as him-the  _ exact  _ route, he finds to his dismay, when he transverses to the top of a lamppost and nearly trips over her. He waves his arms to regain his balance, but Billie has been knocked off-kilter and would have gone down if Daud hadn’t grabbed her by the hand and hauled her back up. Then they’re gone again, Daud transversing them both to the top of the carriage house.

He deposits Billie in a corner, her falling on her ass the moment Daud lets go of her hand. “If you have a problem, say so. I’m not suffering your dramatics here.”

“Oh, I’m the dramatic one?” Billie makes no effort to get to her feet. “I’m not the one who pretends he’s the star of some old school noir novel.”

“That would be a lower blow if you actually knew anything about noir, but I know you don’t read unless I make you.”

Billie sweeps to her feet. “This is a stupid plan,” she hisses.

“Eloquently put.”

“There’s nothing to gain here,” Billie says, the light of the Tower reflecting in her goggles. “Why would the Empress bother to listen to us?”

“She might not.”

“And if she does listen, who says she’ll believe us?”

“She might not.”

“Then why are we bothering with this at all?” Billie shakes her head. “We don’t owe the big bitch a damn thing.”

“This isn’t about owing, Billie.”

“Then what is it about, Daud?”

Daud turns away. Behind him, Billie scoffs.

“She’s going to call her guard the second she lays eyes on you.”

“She might,” he admits. “But she might not.”

“And then what? We stand to gain nothing and lose everything.”

“We’ll lose nothing. You can knock out a few Tower guards, can’t you Lurk?”

He transverses away before she can reply.

Billie follows him silently as they creep around the outer ledge, ten feet above the koi pond dug close to the Tower’s foundation. Daud frowns down at the water in distaste. He spots shimmers of orange beneath the lily pads, shining scales and ripples. He doesn’t know what kind of fish they are at a glance-Billie could, if they weren’t in stealth mode and she wasn’t currently giving him the cold shoulder. But he can be pretty confident that the pond also contains hagfish, lurking somewhere in the vegetation, watching for unwanted Tower guests to stumble in.

This was all just...wrong. On a typical run, they barely needed to talk to each other to arrange their movements. They were just automatically in sync, choreographed without thought. But tonight Billie’s head is far away, and he can’t tell what she’s thinking. They’re out of step.

Daud finds that he dislikes it. He’s used to being in tune with her. Used to relying on the encyclopedia of random knowledge she carries around in her head for miscellaneous facts and tidbits. He’s used to her, and now she seems unfamiliar.

They slide in through a ventilation shaft Billie had marked on their maps as being under maintenance, and thus would be left open for them. The air grows cooler as they move into the Tower proper, but the humidity of the night still sticks to their skins.

Inside, the foyer is all but deserted. Daud spots a single guard at the bottom of the steps, arm braced against the wall while the little maid he’s talking to dominates his attention, the alarm twenty feet and a flight of stairs away.

Daud transverses onto one of the chandeliers before transversing onto the Empress’s balcony, taking care not to make the light swing and attract attention, but Billie stands up straight, sprints a few feet on the tips of her toes, and transverses just close enough to catch her fingers on the edge of the balstrode. Daud has half a mind to grab her wrist and push her just for showing off, but he only rolls his eyes and offers her a hand up. Which Billie ignores, pulling herself over the railing and landing with all the grace of a cat in hunt.

Through the frosted glass of the door, Daud can see that the room is largely dark, save for a single wavering light. Daud gives the motion, and Billie disappears. He spots her again on the railing across from him, bordering the third floor hallway, but only for a moment and then Billie is gone again. Onto the ledge that runs along pretty much every wall in the upper class districts, strong and wide enough for even Daud to sneak on top of. From there she’ll make her way around to the other side of the chambers, and she’ll wait outside the door until Daud summons her once again. Or until the guards are called to apprehend him. There’s no telling how this will turn out.

Daud twists the doorknob slowly and holds his breath as he pushes the door open. No squeak, thank Dunwall Tower’s diligent maintenance workers. He slips inside.

Jessamine Kaldwin is at her desk, facing away from her balcony door. Her long black hair has been let down from the updo she’s frequently seen in, and a shiny pink ribbon ties it back from her face. She’s removed her overshirt, leaving her in just a blouse, though Daud is grateful that she’s still wearing her dayclothes. She would be far more displeased to receive him if she were already in a nightgown.

Daud’s eyes flicker to the various points of entry around the room-the fireplace, he knows, has a false backing that can be raised to create an emergency exit to the Empress’s drawing room. Her closet has a back door through to her parlor, which locks from the inside. The double doors that open to the back halls where Billie is lurking lock as well, he knows, but he can see that the bolt is currently not in place. Daud contemplates throwing it briefly, but decides it might make him appear too threatening. Instead Daud stands up straight and squares his shoulders.

“Jessamine Kaldwin.”

She gasps, and her pen goes flying as Jessamine jumps out of her chair, whirling around. She blinks at him, her narrow blue eyes widened with shock. She glances around as if looking for her Royal Protector, then seems to remember that he isn’t here.

Daud raises his hands. “I’m not here to harm you. I only wish to talk.”

“How do I know you’re not lying?” Jessamine says in a harsh, low voice.

“You don’t,” Daud says simply. “I’m a man of my word, though I don’t expect you to believe that either.”

“I can scream and summon a dozen guards within seconds.” Her voice grows louder, more confident.

“You could,” he agrees.

She doesn’t. She only watches him with suspicious eyes.

Daud lets his hands drop back to his side. “Or you could hear me out,” he finishes. “I have some information I think the Empress should know.”

The Empress looks him up and down.

“My name is-”

“I  _ know  _ who you are, Daud.” It might have been called a sneer, if it were someone else, but Jessamine Kaldwin’s face and voice were not suited for something akin to sneering. “I know a great deal about you.”

He figured as much, but it never hurt to act like he hadn’t. Of course the Empress would know his face-he’s killed both her allies and her enemies, been a nuisance to her and her city, no doubt she’s stared at his likeness a hundred times.

“Then you know the kind of people I deal with,” he says. “A lot of names you’d recognize. Some you’ll be surprised by. There are a few whose names you need to know, and a few secrets I’ve learned about them.”

“What’s the catch?” She folds her arms. “The price for this information, I mean.”

“None.”

“Don’t lie to me, assassin. I know men like you. What do you want from me?”

“I’m a lot of things, your Majesty, but I am no liar. I want nothing from you, save the ability to walk away without the headsman’s axe coming down on me.”

“So you seek a pardon?”

“I’m not saying that. I’m asking you to let me  _ leave  _ when we’re done.”

Whether Jessamine Kaldwin believes that or not, she seems mollified by the response. She sinks back into her desk chair, sitting in it sideways so as to keep her front to Daud. “Where’s your back-up hiding?”

“I came alone, my lady.”

“And you just told me you didn’t lie.  _ Where _ is your back-up?”

She’s sharp, he’ll give her credit. “Out in the hall,” he admits. “Hiding and lying in wait.”

“Waiting for what?”

“For you to call your guards.”

“And then he’ll kill them before they can protect me from you, correct?”

“Knock them out, and only to allow us both to escape,” he says. “You have my word that we will not harm anyone, except in self-defense.” He catches the way her eyes flicker to the door, the way they widen in concern. “Lady Emily will not be harmed either. She’s safe from us.”

“How many?” Jessamine whispers.

“Just one.”

She exhales, running a hand through her hair. “Alright,” she says. “You’ve given me your word, so I’ll give you mine. When we’re done here, you and yours will be free to leave. Once you’re off the grounds, however, you were never here. Do you understand?”

“Perfectly.”

“Good.” She straightens up. “Now, what information did you have for me?”

Daud squares his shoulders before responding. “I received a contract for your life.”

“That’s reassuring news, coming from a man who just promised me safety.”

“I no longer have any intention of carrying it out.”

“And why would my city’s most infamous assassin turn down what I imagine is a quite illustrious contract?”

“I accepted it,” he replies. “And the client is still under the impression that I intend to fulfill it.”

“I see.” Jessamine watches him, her eyes flicking over his body. “What made you change your mind?”

“Two things.” Daud holds up the appropriate number of fingers. “One, I suspect my client is planning to double-cross me in the end. I won’t go into why I think that is, as it’s not relevant to what I came here to tell you. Two, while trying to find evidence for this betrayal, my second uncovered unquestionable evidence that links this client to the engineering of the rat plague crisis.”

Jessamine drums her nails over the surface of her desk, her eyes wandering. “So the rats  _ were  _ brought into the city intentionally,” she says to herself. “I suspected. I thought it might be sabotage, perhaps from the Morlean rebel societies…” She straightens up again. “Would I know this client?”

“You...know him very well,” Daud says, bracing himself. “My client is Hiram Burrows.”

In a second, Jessamine Kaldwin is on her feet. “No!” she gasps. “You...you’re lying! You must be!”

“I’m not. I’ve worked dozens of jobs for him in the past-many of which were done for your benefit, I’m sorry to say.”

Jessamine shakes her head, but her eyes are far off in a corner of the room. “I trusted him,” she whispers. “No...no,  _ why  _ does that make sense?”

“I have a few things that may serve as evidence...if you’ll give me leave to reach into my pocket?”

Jessamine nods blankly and Daud produces the evidence from his coat. Perhaps twenty pages of Billie’s notes, typed on Daud’s typewriter-her handwriting isn’t very good, and even if Jessamine Kaldwin could read it he didn’t appreciate the thought of her not taking them seriously because his second didn’t know how to write in script, so he made Billie type them up for her-and hands them over. Her notes are thorough, with great attention to detail, and Daud trusts Billie’s word-but Jessamine Kaldwin has no reason to.

Which is why he hands over the punchcard next.

Jessamine quirks her eyebrow at him before turning forward, setting the pages neatly on her desk and leaning forward to slide the punchcard into her audiograph machine. She turns down the volume before she begins the playback.

Daud watches Jessamine’s face grow paler and paler as the recording plays. When it stops she is ghost white, her face bloodless. She stares down at the edge of her desk, her eyes wide and disturbed. Then she puts her head in her hands.

“Do you want me to go?” Daud whispers.

Wordlessly, Jessamine nods.

Daud turns to leave.

He’s at the balcony doors when Jessamine calls to him. 

“Daud, wait.” She doesn’t turn around. “Return tomorrow. Same time. The same promise. Please,” she adds.

Daud’s hand closes around the doorknob. “Of course.”

He doesn’t tell Billie about the second visit, though he suspects she knew where he was going the moment he set out-perhaps earlier. She’d been quiet all the way back to the Flooded District and had been giving him the silent treatment to the best of her ability all day, and while it annoys Daud when she broods, it at least afforded him a respite from her persistent questioning.

Jessamine Kaldwin is ready for him this time, still fully dressed with her hair pinned up in a bun. She’s wiped the lipstick off her face, though her eyeshadow remains, and Daud can’t tell if the tinging in her cheeks is the remnants of rouge of if she just naturally has that blush. Or perhaps she’s been drinking.

“Daud,” she greets him formally. “Thank you for seeing me.”

“Of course.” He’s unsure of how to respond.

“Will you sit?” Jessamine gestures to the chair opposite her. Her desk is clear of papers, with only a silver tray holding a bottle of wine and two glasses.

Daud glances around. Her door is barred tonight, which means she either trusts him farther than she can throw him or she’s left her closet door unlocked for guards to get through. Possibly to ambush him.

Billie would have suspected a trap. She would have argued with him if he’d told her about this. She’d have come along if he’d ordered it, but she would have fought it and complained the whole time and Daud just didn’t have the energy for any of it. And he couldn’t figure out how to explain to her why he  _ didn’t  _ think this was a trap. Mostly because he couldn’t really describe his reasons to himself.

He doesn’t trust Jessamine Kaldwin. Daud doesn’t trust anyone, save for Billie herself. But he...finds her trustworthy, at the very least.

If that makes sense.

Daud takes the seat offered to him with a polite thanks spilling off his lips. Jessamine reaches forward and pours the wine herself.

“Would you like a drink?” she asks kindly. When Daud shakes his head, she even allows herself a smile. “I’ll drink first, so you can be at ease.”

The assassin and the Empress had more common ground than one would initially think, apparently. Jessamine drinks down a good third of her glass. He sees her throat move as she swallows.

“Thank you for the offer, but I don’t drink.” He’ll drink with Billie on occasion, but it’s more for her company. A bottle of whiskey, two cigars, and a rooftop. Some of the best evenings were spent like that, in utter silence.

“Oh? I’d ring for tea, then, but then my servants would be aware I have a guest. If you do want some wine, however, feel free to help yourself. It’s a Serkonan vintage.” She swirls her cup. “Corvo likes it.”

The usage of her bodyguard’s first name makes this entire encounter feel far too personal. “Your Majesty, may I ask if you’ve gone over our notes?”

“I have. Quite extensively, in fact.” She places her wine glass back down on the table. “I apologize for my reaction last night. I...well, I wanted to get to the bottom of things regarding the plague, but that was one of the last things I wanted to hear.”

“It brought me no pleasure to tell you.”

“I know. And yet you came to me all the same.” She fixes him with a pointed look. “You came even though it didn’t benefit you, even though it put you in danger.”

“Your security is no danger to me.”

“As I can see. I am rather curious as to how you got into my Tower, but I don’t expect you to tell me even if I ask.”

If it didn’t endanger his retreat, Daud might be tempted to point out all the gaps in her security. The lax guard, the hiding spots. The ledges that were practically made to hide spies and assassins eight feet above everyone’s heads.

“But in any case,” Jessamine continues. “You’ve put Dunwall before your own interests and your own safety to bring me this news. Daud, you’ve done a great many terrible things, and I can’t say I’m fond of you. But I will say I appreciate this.”

Daud sets his teeth together to keep the corners of his mouth from turning upward. “I just wish there was no need to bring it to you, my lady.”

“As do I. But the truth is here, and you have brought it. I’ve read your notes…” She opens a drawer and pulls out the stack of papers, fastened together at the corner with a golden clip, the edges already frayed and worn. “Are these  _ your  _ notes? They don’t sound like you.”

“My second’s.” Damn Billie, sneaking colloquialisms and curse words into her reports. “The same one that was outside your door last night.” He doesn’t know why he added that part.

“Is he here tonight?” Jessamine asks, scanning the front page again.

“No.”

“A shame. I would appreciate it if you would thank him for his thorough work. And for attempting to make such disturbing material amusing to read. I felt very wrong for laughing at parts.” She sets the papers down.

“I take it you believe us.”

“I do.” Jessamine Kaldwin folds her hands on the table. “Even if you didn’t have the audiograph, I’d be inclined to believe you, despite your reputations. With the audiograph, only a fool would deny it.” She shakes her head. “Though that’s how I feel now. A fool. I’ve known Burrows since I was a girl. I trusted him, with matters of state, with my  _ daughter... _ I’ve been blind. But you’ve opened my eyes, and I owe it to Dunwall to act on what I see.”

It’s dangerous, holding any opinion on a ruler. But Daud decides then and there that he likes Jessamine Kaldwin.

“You said Hiram contacted you to take my life,” Jessamine leads in. “What justification did he give you for ordering my death?”

“He didn’t.”

“You just agreed to kill me without question?” 

“Your Majesty, this isn’t a court of law.”

“You don’t ask your clients why they want their marks dead?”

“It’s none of my business,” he replies.

Jessamine looks disturbed by the statement. “What if there’s no justification for it? No  _ good  _ reason?”

“Let’s say I made it a point to require my clients justify their contracts to me. If I’ve earned a reputation for only doing jobs that are morally white, then people will start spinning lies. And then I’ll find out later that I’ve killed the wrong person, and then-”

“Saving even one innocent life, it’s not worth that price?”

“If I chose to be selective in my clients, they would just go to someone who wasn’t so picky.” Daud stares at her across the desk. “At least this way I can hold them to some sort of standard.”

“What use is your morality if you don’t enforce it?”

Daud opens his mouth, but he finds he has no response.

Jessamine plows right on. “So you didn’t ask why he wanted me dead then. Did you ask what he planned to do with my daughter? With my Royal Protector?”

“I can’t say for Lord Attano, but Lady Emily was part of the contract.”

“Emily was-” Jessamine presses a hand to her chest. “No, not even he…”

“Lady Emily was never in any danger,” Daud says quickly. “I wouldn’t have...I don’t take contracts that deal with kids. Burrows knows this.”

“He’s...asked before?”

“Not in so many words. But I make that clear to any of my clients who might.”

Jessamine is staring at him curiously. “You have children,” she states factually.

Daud blinks. “No.”

“You seem like the type.”

“To father children? That’s a relatively low effort task. You don’t need to be a certain type to succeed.” Daud shakes his head. “I don’t have any kids. I’m just not as evil as your Overseers like to claim I am.”

“The Overseers don’t belong to me, and I don’t think you’re evil. Perhaps not good, but you’re clearly not devoid of it.”

“I didn’t come to debate morals,” Daud says, feeling a flush creep into his cheeks. “The intention was to hold Lady Emily captive for a period of time following your death. Lord Burrows would assume the regency and establish himself in a position of power before producing her. I believe he would have claimed paternity of Lady Emily in order to strengthen his claim.”

Jessamine throws her head back and laughs heartily at that. “And what, Corvo would be expected to slink back to the Tower and take this all without question?”

“I think Burrows counted on being able to manipulate your Royal Protector as he manipulated your daughter, your Majesty.”

“He’d be in for a rude awakening. Corvo is much smarter than they give him credit for.” She picks up her wine glass, swirling the contents before taking another sip. “Emily knows full well who her father is, in any case.”

Daud knows better to comment on that. “You should know that the High Overseer is involved.”

“So I read. As is Lady Waverly Boyle, and the Pendleton twins-Morgan and Custis? The Pendletwits, Corvo is fond of calling them.”

“My second likes to call them the Pendleshits.” Daud manages half a smile before he realizes that he just told one of Billie’s off-color jokes to the Empress. Jessamine, however, laughs, and that gives him the courage to move on. “Waverly Boyle is Burrows’ paramour and financial contributor, but it’s unclear exactly what her level of involvement is. It’s entirely possible that she knows nothing of the details.”

“Or, if she is aware, if she’s acting out of malice or fear.” Jessamine nods to herself. “I know Waverly. She’s a cold woman, make no mistake, but to be quite honest I think she’s too self-absorbed to care enough to be evil. Eugenics and grabs for political power, they would bore her.”

Daud doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t know Waverly Boyle. He knows Billie had a very short affair with one of the sisters, but now he can’t remember which one. Was it Lydia? He thinks it was Lydia.

Jessamine taps her nails against her desk as she watches Daud’s face. “So discovering the true origins of the plague, that made you decide not to continue helping Hiram. But what you haven’t explained to me is why you chose to bring this information to me instead of dealing with it yourself.”

“I heard them out,” Daud says flatly. “I met with Burrows and Campbell and tried to get their angle, see how to best proceed. The meeting was...unproductive, in that regard.”

“What occurred?”

“They got very drunk, and proceeded to discuss the ways they’d rape my second.”

“You second is a woman.” It’s phrased as a statement, not a question.

“Yes.”

“That’s out of the ordinary.”

“There are a number of women in my ranks,” Daud says. “They’ve talked about raping them too, but they weren’t as descriptive as they were with Billie.”

“Billie. That’s a pretty name.”

It is. She may not think so, but Daud likes it. It wouldn’t be what he would have picked for her, but now he’d be hard-pressed to find a name that suited her more. He can’t imagine her as anything else.

“I hope she wasn’t present at this meeting.”

“If she had been, we wouldn’t have a Spymaster or a High Overseer to worry about.” Daud shifts in his chair. “I contemplated just killing them myself, as it was.”

“So why didn’t you? You’re clearly capable.”

Daud stares Jessamine Kaldwin right in the eye. “Because I want Burrows to die knowing that he failed. That he was found out, that he didn’t get one over on anyone. That his precious order collapsed.” He leans forward. “Only you can deliver the type of death that Hiram Burrows deserves.”

“I...see.” If Jessamine Kaldwin is frightened by his display, she doesn’t show it. She pushes her chair back, getting to her feet and staring at the painting over her fireplace while her fingers play with a golden chain around her neck. “I appreciate you coming to me, instead of simply spreading rumors among my people. Surely that would have been the safer option for you.”

“It also wouldn’t have guaranteed Burrows would see consequences for his actions.” Daud shifts. “You got a whiff of the truth and Burrows wanted you put down before you could sniff it out. Letting the secret out into the public would be good as sending him a warning, and he’d find a way to weasel out of it.”

“You’re right. I believe you whole-heartedly-but as you said, this isn’t a court of law.” She winds her finger around the chain. Her eyes don’t drift from that painting, a nondescript scene of a crowd lounging about a river bank.

“It will be harder to prove in court, is what you’re saying. We took nothing from Burrows’ home in order to avoid raising suspicion, but once he’s been arrested you can seize his assets. Comb through his belongings and you’ll find plenty of evidence-”

“To be shown to the courts?” Jessamine turns around. “So Hiram can dispute every piece, sway the juries with sweet words and lies, make the evidence disappear before we can show it?” She shakes her head. “All the while the people of my city revolt, gather at the prison and courthouse to demand his head, while they focus on anger and revenge instead of recovery and healing. No. A lengthy trial is the last thing Dunwall needs right now.”

He never thought of it that way. But then, Daud supposes that’s why Jessamine Kaldwin is in charge of an Empire and he isn’t.

“No, Hiram Burrows will be punished,” Jessamine continues. “His crimes will be made known and my people will have justice. But if we go about this the wrong way, we will too easily find ourselves corrupted by revenge, and Dunwall will suffer. If we go about this the wrong way, Hiram will find a way to play it to his advantage. This is his game, I can’t forget. He knows how to rig it so he wins.”

“He can’t win every time,” Daud replies. “Play the audiograph. It convinced you, did it not?”

“Until Hiram claims the recording was doctored in order to frame him.”

“Billie does not have the knowledge to falsify an audiograph recording.”

“My courts do not know your second and will not trust her as you do. Especially considering the reputation of your team. Especially as she’s a woman.” Jessamine Kaldwin sits back down. “And if I rely on a single recording to bring Hiram to justice, I will wake up on the day it’s to be presented to find it missing. I guarantee it.”

“This is a copy. We can make more copies if needed.”

“He will find out and make those disappear as well, I assure you. We’re playing Hiram’s game now. We can’t expect him to play by the rules.” She worries at her chain.

We, she’s saying, Daud realizes with a sinking feeling. “What are you planning to do, your Majesty?”

Jessamine bites her lip. “I don’t like this,” she declares, shaking her head. “This is not the way I do things, but the way I do things has proven to be inadequate. It’s allowed me to be played a fool. I may not like this, but an Empress belongs to her people, not the other way around. I owe it to my citizens to do whatever’s necessary to protect them.” She leans forward. “Daud, I know who you are, and I can’t trust you. But I trust no one right now, and you’ve proven to be more trustworthy than the men sworn to my loyalty. What more, you’ve outsmarted Hiram once already.” She presses her lips together, her eyes in a different place. “I don’t like this, not one bit, but if I’m to do what Dunwall needs I have to play along and beat Hiram at his own game. Daud, I need your help.”


	2. Chapter 2

She’s not as angry as he would have expected.

Which is to say, she’s completely furious.

“She’s promised us immunity,” Daud tries.

Billie only scoffs. “Promised, right. And how are you going to hold her to it?”

“She gave me her word.”

“Her  _ word.”  _ Billie rolls her eyes. “She’s an Empress. Why should she care about keeping her word to people like us? What are you going to do about it, take out a page in the newspaper? Tell everyone how the mean old Empress lied to you and expect that to keep our heads from rolling?”

She huffs then, dropping into her seat and picking up the stack of papers on his desk. She pulls each one up and glares at it angrily, slamming it back down without reading. Daud frowns and lights a third cigarette.

“It’s in her best interest to work with us.”

“In her best interest  _ now,  _ but what happens when Burrows is in chains?” She crumples up the paper in her hand and sends it bouncing off the rim of the wastebasket. “When he’s no threat, when she has all the evidence she needs to take his head off? She’s going to sell you out faster than the new recruits transverse to the dining hall at suppertime, mark my words!”

Daud reaches forward and snatches the remaining papers from her hand. “Jessamine won’t double-cross us.”

“Jessamine. So you’re on a first name basis with the most powerful woman in the world, big whoop. She’s still not your friend.”

Daud flushes at that, but he doesn’t comment. “We don’t have friends. She’s an  _ ally,  _ leave it at that.”

“Until Burrows is taken care of! And then she will have no reason not to sell us out, and it’ll be her word against ours! She. Will.  _ Win!” _

Billie sweeps to her feet, standing over him with curled fists and anger in her eyes. Daud smokes and stares back. The tension in her muscles start to go, and Billie begins to deflate, but she keeps her glare up. Stubborn as an ox. Always has been. Daud gets to his feet, smokes. Watches her. “Are you done?” 

“Are you even  _ listening  _ to me?”

“I’m waiting for you to cool your head so we can discuss this like rational adults.”

“Your idea of being a  _ rational adult  _ is to paint a target on our backs and hand the Empress a pistol! So fuck being a rational adult!” Billie kicks his desk. “Call me whatever the hell you want, I’m not slipping a noose around my own neck to make you happy!”

Daud folds his arms as she continues to rant. It was better to just let Billie throw her fit, he knows. Let her rage, take her screaming. Tell her to calm down and she’ll only put on her silver mask, act cool and collected and then swan away to nurse her anger deep inside, letting it brew and boil until there’s a hurricane raging just beneath her skin. That’s when Billie is most dangerous.

No, best just to let her get it out of her system. And best here, and not in the training yard where she could hurt one of her fellow Whalers. Not out in the field, where  _ she  _ could get hurt, blinded by fury. Some yelling and abuse of his already ratty furniture, Daud can tolerate that. These episodes never last long anyway. Billie will blow herself out.

Billie grabs a bunch of grapes off the plate he’d been snacking off of before he called her in, plopping back down in her chair and ripping one off the stem.

“She’ll betray us,” Billie mumbles, popping the grape into her mouth.

Daud sits as well, stubbing his cigarette out in his ashtray. “She may very well try,” he says, though he personally doesn’t think she will. “But she can do no more to us than any of our other highborn clients. She doesn’t know where our base is. I go to her. She can accuse us of whatever she wants, but then she admits to working with us, remember.”

“She’s the Empress,” Billie says morosely. “The world will side with her.”

Daud is formulating a response when a knock comes at the door, saving him from having to retort.

“Uh, hey…” Thomas sticks his head in, waving from the far side of the room. “Supper’s ready. Thorpe made watermelon soup.”

“We’re fucking busy, Thomas, fuck off.” Billie is cut off from further insults by Daud throwing one of his pens at her, bouncing off her cheek.

“Tell Thorpe that Billie and I aren’t hungry,” Daud replies. “Thank you, Thomas.”

Thomas scurries away the moment Daud gives him leave, running instead of simply transversing. Daud watches him go. Thomas has been with them for a while, and Daud knows it bothers him that he hasn’t earned a blue Master’s coat yet. If he ranked his Whalers on talent and sheer usefulness, Thomas would be in second place. Easily.

The problem being that he is utterly useless in a fight. He can wield a blade with some prowess, can shoot straight and passed all his weapons tests. But when you put him in combat, it’s like all that training dries up in an instant. Thomas panics. He makes mistakes. And in the heat of battle, you can’t make mistakes.

It happens. There’s just some part of the brain that’s wired differently, some instinctual feeling that determines your response when your life is on the line. Daud’s seen it before. It’s no personal fault, it’s just...annoying.

Thomas is one of the most intelligent of his Whalers, and he’s not awful at stealth. He’s an excellent scout. Provided he doesn’t run into trouble.

But he can’t give a blue coat to a boy who can barely hold his own in a sparring match, and has never won a real fight. The other Whalers would consider it unfair. A sign of favoritism. Daud tries not to play favorites.

But he fails sometimes.

Daud fixes Billie with a glare. “If you were ten years younger, I’d cane you for that.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” she snorts. “Would break your poor old man heart, to lay your hands on me.”

“Somehow I think I’d live with myself. I should do what your mother should have done, maybe then you’d have learned some fucking manners.”

“My mother didn’t spare me a damn thing and you’ve seen the scars I’ve got to prove it.”

She picks at her nails while Daud watches her face. He’s always careful, bringing up her mother. There’s no telling how Billie will react. Sometimes Billie is like a rock in the ocean, standing strong as the waves beat around her. Sometimes she’s a loaded crossbow, ready to fire.

But she’s right to call Daud’s threat out for what it is: empty. He doesn’t beat his Whalers like stubborn oxen pulling a cart. He does plenty of other awful things, but he can’t stomach the thought of that. Another line he can’t cross.

(He feels the cuts on his back reopen as he works, and he bites his lip as he feels blood trickle down his skin, as his shirt sticks to his skin, red and wet, and now he’s ruined another shirt and he’ll be punished for that as well and he says it’s so he’ll learn but Daud never know what he’s supposed to learn, except how to hate)

“Billie,” he starts. “Do you want to bring down Hiram Burrows or not?”

Billie’s neck snaps towards him, her eyes wild with the storm. “More than anything.”

“Then we need Jessamine Kaldwin.”

“We can put a blade to his throat well enough without her. Noble fucks always think they’re made of something better than us, but they bleed just like anyone else.” She scoffs. “I should know.”

She does. Nobody here, not even Daud, can boast of a first kill such as hers.

“We could,” Daud agrees. “We could put him and Campbell and the Pendleton twins to the sword and call it a day-and then what? They’ll be heralded as martyrs and the city will mourn, and we’ll have to hear forever what a tragedy it all was.”

“Don’t forget Waverly,” Billie mumbles, but he can tell that she found that unsatisfactory as well.

“We don’t know how guilty Waverly is.”

“She’s guilty of being a bitch.”

“If we’re executing for that now, lay your head on my desk so I can take it off.”

“You’re a fucking jackass, Daud.”

Billie sulks, eating her grapes. Daud studies her intently.

She’ll kill him one day. It’s an odd bit of knowledge, stirring within him a dread and a strange sort of pride. Daud’s known, since he founded the Whalers, that he’d die by one of their hands. By the best of them, the strongest and the sharpest. The unnamed shadow that would prove to be the best Daud ever taught, the one to surpass him. In the past few years, it’s become clear that it would be Billie.

He’d have it no other way. That’s the life he’s made for himself, the life he’s given to her. They live and die by the blade, and Daud will be a pitiful thing once he’s too old and weak to wield one.

Dying with a sword in his hand, that’s the best way to go. A simple sort of honor in it, fighting to your last breath. And hers being the last face he sees. Spending his last moments on the end of her blade, knowing he was leaving something stronger than him behind. That the Whalers would be in good hands. That  _ she  _ was stronger for it. He doesn’t plan to make this easy on her-he’ll fight, likely wound her, and she’ll earn the scars that will serve as trophies of her victory. But it will be a good fight; she can have the accomplishment of a battle hard-won, and he can die knowing that she was truly, honestly stronger than he was.

It was the best legacy that Daud could ever hope to leave.

Now he thinks on it and his stomach twists queerly. Billie will take her rightful place as the head of the Whalers, in time. Once he’s taught her everything he can and he’s outlived every bit of usefulness this world can wring from him. He trusts Billie to sense when the proper time comes, to cure him of his uselessness before it becomes a disgrace. And then she will step into his shoes, take his title and live as the Knife of Dunwall. She will live the very life she’ll take from him.

That day is drawing closer. That’s why Daud is thinking on it more now, when he never thought about anything past his own stopped heart before. That’s why he feels this uneasiness welling inside of him. That’s the root of his dissatisfaction. It’s only because he’s nervous. He’s getting older. Billie’s day will come.

But it won’t come just yet.

Daud continues on. “I’d think you of all people would like the idea. It’s a fitting end, for him.”

“If it works out the way you seem to think it will.”

“Jessamine has no sympathy for him. She wants to see him dead too.”

“I’m not doubting whether she’s willing to betray him. I believe that.” She leans back in her chair, resting the heels of her boots on Daud’s desk and bringing a finger to her lips. “She’s known him for years. He’s been loyal to her. He gives her parenting advice, for fuck’s sake. And she’s perfectly willing to stab him in the back. We’re a bunch of lowlifes who have been tearing up her city for a decade. She doesn’t know us, she doesn’t like us. Yet you’re here insisting that she wouldn’t double-cross up. Tell me, Daud. Why would Jessamine Kaldwin treat us  _ better  _ than she’s treating Hiram Burrows?”

Daud keeps his eyes firmly locked on her, focused and unwavering. “Because we didn’t put a contract out for her life.”

“No. We just took it.”

“We haven’t committed genocide.”

“‘Genocide’ is such a strong word. They wouldn’t use it when it’s people like us dying. It’s just unfortunate then.” Billie pins her eyes on him. “How many of her highborn friends have we killed, Daud? How heavily does she weigh their lives against the fucks in the slums? A hundred of us against one of her? A thousand?”

“Get your boots off my desk.”

“When you look at it from her perspective, who’s worse? Us or Burrows? Because he at least  _ tried  _ to only kill poor people. Nobody in this city is safe from us.”

“Jessamine doesn’t see it like that.”

“How the fuck do you know?”

Daud pushes her feet off the edge. They smack down on the floor, and Billie shoots him a murderous glare.

“Forget it,” she says, getting to her feet.

“Sit back down.” But it’s not an order; not a  _ real  _ one. Billie knows when he’s issuing orders and when he’s blowing hot air. “Lurk, I did not dismiss you. We’re having a discussion.”

“What for? You told me what’s what. And you’re the boss.” She stalks to the edge of Daud’s office before turning back, bowing mockingly. “I’m just your pesky right hand. Why would you bother listening to me?”

“Lurk-”

Then there’s only blackness where Billie once stood. Daud drops back down in his chair with a huff, glaring at the empty space before he turns his attention to the mess she made of his desk.

* * *

Daud doesn’t see Billie for the rest of the day. No one does. Daud doesn’t look for her.

He knows Billie. She needs time and space to cool off-and he can feel the pulse of her Bond to him when he focuses on it, so he knows she hasn’t gotten herself killed. Besides, Billie has disappeared for days before, and she always comes back.

She’ll be back. She’ll stand in his office, ready for his order. And she’ll sass him again, but she’ll do what he tells her. He knows Billie. And she knows he has his reasons.

He’s only deprived of her uplifting company for the day. The next morning when he returns to his office, she’s sitting on his couch and smoking one of his good cigars.

“If Jessamine Kaldwin is going to try and dropkick your ass into the next century I want be there to see her fucking try.” She blows a ring of smoke out of her mouth. “Partially so I can laugh at her attempt and mostly because I want to rub it in your smug face. So.” She stubs out the cigar. “What’s your first stupid order?”

“Take your filthy boots off my couch.” 

* * *

“There’s one more piece of the puzzle,” Daud says three weeks later, his office cloaked in thick cigar smoke.

Billie nods, taking a long drag from her own cigar. She’s stripped down to her camisole in the heat and humidity of the day, her hair seizing up and damp strands sticking to her forehead. “The Pendleshits. They’re major players in all this, and they have the resources to pick up where Burrows left off.” She taps her cigar into their overflowing ashtray. “Not to mention they’ll be feeling nervous after their conspiracy is unraveled, and pissed that their easy ride is being taken away. A cornered animal can be dangerous.”

And they were the ones who were going to keep Emily Kaldwin captive. That can’t go unpunished.

“They’re only dangerous if they catch onto us,” Daud says, studying Billie’s face intently as he smokes. She snorts.

“If it were Treavor, I wouldn’t be worried. Man has half the wits of your average noble, and even less of a backbone. I might have been willing to take my chances with just Morgan. Custis, he’s something else. He’s too smart to not see what’s happening, and I’d rather not risk being on the receiving end of his ire. Not if we can avoid it.”

Daud nods. Good girl. She’s learned so well. “You’re right. They need to be taken out of the game.”

“That’s the problem,” Billie mutters, looking over their papers. “Remove them first and Burrows will suspect somebody’s onto him. Remove them afterwards and they’ll be waiting for us. I highly doubt we’ll be able to lure them to Dunwall Tower and take care of them all at once.”

“No,” Daud agrees. “But they do need to be taken care of at the same time. Before word of Burrows’ fall can reach them.”

Billie nods. “They’ll be suspicious to see any Whalers around them, but we can have a few of the blue coats dress in civvies. Any ideas on who we send?”

“I think I have a different idea.”

“Not me. You are  _ not  _ leaving me behind when you go to Dunwall Tower, old man.”

“Will you be quiet? Of course I’m going to bring you.” He gets to his feet, stubbing out his cigar. “Put your shirt back on. We have a visit to make.”

“Those were all rhetorical questions, weren’t they?” Billie groans. But she pulls on her blouse and does up half the buttons, twisting her hair back into a bun before she transverses away to don her coat and mask.

She follows him without so much as a question, even when their travel takes them the better part of a day. She’s been on his ass about getting a boat, but that’s Billie. She likes boats. She wanted to be a ship captain before she met him.

Does she still want to? He knows she still likes looking at the ships, likes reading about them and memorizing pointless facts and trivia about them. Navy history books and pirate stories were her favorites, when he was still formally educating her. She couldn’t have a ship and be the Knife of Dunwall at the same time, though, and it wasn’t the type of job where you got to retire and seek out a different one. The thought puts him in a foul mood, for some reason.

Regardless, Daud doesn’t want a boat. They don’t need one. Why would he bother with a boat, relying on a glorified piece of driftwood for transport when his own two legs work perfectly well?

(He was sick the entire journey from Cullero to Dunwall, curled up in a ball in his bunk. He couldn’t keep anything down, could only lay there and close his eyes and pretend they weren’t being tossed around like a juggler with his balls, could only wonder if this wave was big enough to engulf the ship, what monsters lurked on the other side of the hull, could only remember the boat he was on the day they took him from his mother, the dark, the crying)

She starts to sulk when she realizes their destination, but she doesn’t say anything. Billie follows him into the Dunwall Whiskey Distillery without complaint.

“The Hatters are talking about mounting an attack, taking this place back from the Bottle Street gang,” she mutters as they pass over the yard, tiptoeing on metal beams and pipes.

Daud rolls his eyes. “The Hatters have been talking about that for five years now. They’ve been bitter since the day they got kicked out.”

“They’ve lost even more territory since then. Heard they’ve been driven out of Slaughterhouse Row. The slaughterhouse owners decided to cut some costs and just use their own butchers to keep the other workers in line.”

“So who keeps the butchers from demanding fair pay?”

“No one, until the butchers realize they’re in good position to do that.” Billie straightens her mask. “Then the owners will be calling on another group of thugs to beat them down. Rinse, repeat.”

Such is the way of life in the underworld of Dunwall.

He’d told Slackjaw to expect him, so they slip into the back office with ease. Billie plops down on a barrel serving as a seat without waiting for Slackjaw to so much as greet them.

Thankfully, Slackjaw isn’t the type to be offended over that. “Daud,” he greets, reaching forward to grasp his hand. Ever the gentleman. “And friend. I’d ask your name, but I have a feelin’ you won’t be givin’ it out.”

“You’d be right,” Billie replies.

Slackjaw smiles. “A dame, ain’t it? Your special lady, Daud?”

“I don’t have a special lady,” Daud says. “And Billie’s too young for me anyway.”

“Thanks, Daud. Anonymity is a sham anyway.”

“Oh, quit yer bellyaching,” Slackjaw says. “Me and you, we’re already acquainted, are we not? I know that voice. Take off your mask, darlin’.”

“You call me one more pet name and I’ll take a lot more than a few scrapes of skin this time.”

“You did a fairer number than just a few scraps of skin, love. Oh, don’t be gettin’ mad at me, Slackjaw didn’t mean it like that. Billie, you said? I’ll do me best, just might forget.” He turns back to Daud. “You got some nerve, Daud, bringin’ the girlie who tried to slit me throat.”

“I didn’t think you’d remember her.”

“Of course I damn well remember her!” He shakes his head. “Not many people get one over ol’ Slackjaw, nope. Your girl here almost had me in the grave before I knew half what was happenin’. Taught me a hell of a lesson, she did.” He fixes Billie with a stare. “You dint wear a mask then. Come on, take it off. Let me get a  _ good  _ look at you.”

Billie just stares at him for a long moment, and Daud considers the very real possibility that he might have to drag her out of here, kicking and screaming, before this turns into a bloodbath. But then Billie gets to her feet, pulls her hood back and her mask down.

“Sweet Outsider, you’re half a girl.” Slackjaw sucks in through his teeth.

Billie puts her hands on her hips. “I was younger then, and I did almost kill you.”

“You did. How old were you, when yous waltzed through the doors of Slackjaw’s barber?”

“Seventeen.” Billie says it proudly.

Slackjaw fixes Daud with a look. “You was sending a teen to kill me?”

“You hire kids, don’t you?” Daud folds his arms.

“Yeah, fo’ muscle. Don’t send ‘em out alone to kill. ‘Specially not players like me.” He turns back to Billie. “I hope your boss here didn’t hurt you too bad when ya didn’t come back with me head, love.”

“She wasn’t supposed to kill you,” Daud says, annoyed. “She was only there for reconnaissance.”

“And then you walked through the door,” Billie drawls. “Sat down for a shave, got all comfy...and you didn’t even blink, when I picked up the razor.”

“I thought ya were one of them serving girls of his.”

“They always think that. You were too easy.”

“Except he wasn’t.” Daud stares her down. “You didn’t kill him. Moreover, you were only there to gather information and you blew your cover.”

“Yeah, yeah, I fucked up.” Billie waves her hand. “That was six years ago, Daud. I’ve learned my lesson.”

“He beat ya pretty bad?”

“He probably made me train till I puked, that’s a pretty common punishment with him.”

“If we’re done rehashing things that happened half a decade ago,” Daud says. “Can we discuss what we came here for?”

“Sure, sure.” Slackjaw beckons them both over to his desk, taking a seat in the oversized leather chair behind it. “Either of you want a drink? Or a smoke?”

“We’re fine,” Daud says, sinking down into his own chair, Billie taking the one next to him. “No offense intended. I’m sure your whiskey is second to none.”

“Me? Oh, I ain’t offended. I ain’t like those rich bastards, gettin’ my feefees hurt over some blown idea about hospitality. Your lot always got to be worried ‘bout a drop o’ poison in yer cup, I know.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be more descriptive in my letter, but I hope you’ll understand why when I tell you why we came.” Daud shifts in his seat. “We’re about to take out some very important players who are connected to the rat plague.”

“Wait.” Slackjaw narrows his eyes. “Connected to it? Like…”

“It’s their damn fault,” Billie responds boredly. “Shipped in the rats and set them loose in the slums. We have proof.”

Slackjaw curses and sweeps to his feet. “And they be callin’ me evil!” he rants. “Bringin’ this sickness down on a city, on innocent folk...I got five bastards I got to worry about, and me ma’s up there in her years. I been lucky that none o’ them have gotten sick yet, but if they do...” Slackjaw shakes his head. “Me youngest is still on the tit. What did she do to deserve this?” His head jerks up.  _ “Who?  _ Give me names.”

“Hiram Burrows,” Daud answers coolly.

“Burrows.  _ Damn.” _

“We’re going to take care of him,” Daud assures.

“The man’s about as untouchable as any man in Dunwall can be.”

“No one’s untouchable,” Billie says. “Have you no faith in us?”

“We have a plan,” Daud tells him. “But it has to be done delicately. If he gets even an inkling of what we’re planning-”

“He’ll fight back.” Slackjaw nods, and finally sits back down. “There be others?”

“Yes. It’s unclear if they were in on the original plan to bring in the plague, but now they’re all heavily involved in covering it up.”

“Just as bad, then. Give me names.”

“Thaddeus Campbell,” Daud replies. “But we’re going to take care of him too.”

“At the same time,” Billie pipes up. “We’ll send them to the Void screaming together.”

“You best. Or I’ll be along to send them meself.”

Daud folds his hands on his desk. “There’s two more. They’re men that frequent the district, and we were hoping you could be of help in removing them.”

“Names?”

“Pendleton. Morgan and Custis.”

Slackjaw closes his eyes and nods. “Those two...yes, I can do that.” His eyes flicker open. “You want them dead? Because I have some more fittin’ fates in mind.”

“Dead men don’t talk.”

“Neither will they, once I’ve cut their tongues out.” Slackjaw grins. “I can snatch ‘em up, shave their heads and put brands on their asses. Ship ‘em out to their own mines. Ain’t be telling anyone shit, and nobody’ll recognize ‘em for the rest o’ their days.”

Daud stares for a moment, but then he nods. “Do with them what you will. Just see to it that they are punished, and that we never hear from them again.”

“Good as done.” Slackjaw leans forward. “I got another suggestion, if yer open to hearin’ about it. Death is too good for the likes o’ these men.”

“Burrows is too dangerous to be left alive,” Daud says flatly. “Put him on trial and we run the risk of him weaseling out of punishment.”

“And that can’t stand. Aye, I get it. Burrows dies.” Slackjaw nods. “But that High Overseer, livin’ like a king while good men starve two streets over, he don’t deserve an easy death.”

“What did you have in mind?”

Slackjaw slaps his desk. “There’s this thing called the Heretic’s Brand. Nasty thing, burned into yer face like that scar yer famous fer, Daud. Once a body’s branded, don’t matter if it’s a whore’s bastard just back from Whitecliff or the High Overseer hisself, they be  _ untouchable.  _ Nobody can help ‘em. Can’t even talk to ‘em. And dere ain’t even a question ‘bout it. Someone’s branded, they be a heretic.”

“So we can take down Campbell using his own order’s oppressive ruleset.”

“Figured you’d appreciate the irony. So. I get my hands on one o’ dem branders for you, and you can do the honors if you like. No extra charge, even. Be worth it to see that fat fool stumblin’ around half-blind, useless as tits on a cart. Whaddaya say?”

If truth be told, Daud doesn’t like the idea of leaving Campbell alive. Unlike the Pendleton brothers, he’d still be perfectly capable of speaking out. People may not listen to him...but some people may, and there are always ways to talk from behind a screen to avoid revealing your true identity. Daud should know. Leaving Campbell alive ran the risk of him being able to recruit to his cause. He wasn’t as competent as Burrows, true...but he was still smart enough to cause trouble.

On the other hand, Jessamine might prefer that they take care of things with less bloodshed. Even when it cameto creatures such as Campbell. What would Jessamine do, if she were here?

Like it or not, though, she isn’t here. Daud turns to Billie. “What do you think?”

Billie raises her eyebrows. “You’re asking me?”

“I’m letting you decide. You’re the one Campbell wanted to turn into a sex slave.”

“Outsider almighty.” Slackjaw whistles. “He put his hands on the likes o’ you? And he still got all his fingers?”

“He has some fantasies about her. Described them to me in vivid detail.” Daud makes a face. “I would have taken at least one of his hands, but I figured Billie deserved the honor.”

“Well,  _ I  _ wanted to slice off his cock and choke him with it, but you won’t let me do that.” Billie folds her arms.

“No. That would take too long.”

“He’s not walking free to hurt other people. We’re going to kill him.”

Daud nods, and turns back to Slackjaw. “You heard the girl.”

“Aye. He dies, then. Make it long an’ painful.”

“There’s a second matter of business,” Daud says, leaning back in his chair. He doesn’t expect this one to go over so well. “My client is interested in your still.”

“You mean the one at me back?” Slackjaw gives the machine an affectionate pat.

“Yes. I’m aware that you produce a knock-off version of Sokolov’s health elixir, correct?”

Slackjaw’s face turns stormy. “Maybe. What of it?”

“I’m sure you’ve heard this already, but the brewhouses used by the state to create the official product are having trouble keeping up with demand. One of the stills has recently gone down, and another is operating at less than half efficiency. With so many workers either dead or fleeing the city, it’s unlikely that either will be repaired soon.”

“Just means the price of the stuff has gone up.”

“It means more people will  _ die.”  _ Daud fixes Slackjaw with a look. “That elixir is responsible for keeping the plague from infecting everyone in Dunwall.”

Slackjaw  _ hmphs,  _ crossing his arms. “So tell me what I’m supposed to do about it.”

“Your bootleg elixir is derived from a watered down legitimate elixir,” Daud says. “Yet by many accounts, it’s proven to be just as effective as the full-strength version, if not very close to it.”

“So what’s your point?”

“My client wants the recipe. The exact breakdown of your bootleg elixir, to be tested and possibly mass-produced if it allows the current stock to be stretched further.” He seems happy enough with that. Daud takes a breath and continues on. “In addition, she wants you to stop charging for the bootleg elixir and provide them to as many of the district’s inhabitants as possible.”

“Now why in the Void would we do that?” Slackjaw raises his hands. “We make good profit off o’ that.”

“There will be no profit once all your customers are dead.”

Slackjaw grumbles, but he doesn’t have a response to that. “Loss of profit I can handle, I s’pose. But what ‘bout me expenses? Stuff ain’t free for me to make.”

“My client will gladly cover your costs after the plague is cured.”

“After?”

“The economy is in shambles.” And tax collection has been suspended, he thinks, so Jessamine needs to hold onto every coin to take care of her people.

Slackjaw angrily drinks from his whiskey bottle. “So what, I’m just supposed to tell my men to ignore the growlin’ in their stomachs? Ignore their own families goin’ hungry, tell ‘em they’ll be fed when the plague’s all over?”

“I find it hard to believe you have no assets left to pay and feed your men with. Record your losses and I’ll see to it that you’re compensated.”

“And I’m just s’posed to trust this mys-try client o’ yers? The one you won’t even name?”

“She’s good for the coin. If you can’t take my word for it, I’ll take responsibility for your debt should she fail to pay it back.”

“You have a family,” Billie interjects.

Slackjaw narrows his eyes. “What about them?”

“You want them safe. Wouldn’t you want them out of Dunwall?” Billie crosses her legs. “Wouldn’t it make more sense to put them on a boat, send them away until this is blown over?”

“You think I can’t do that? I’m Slackjaw. I can afford to put a few women and children on ships.” But Daud sees the darkness in Slackjaw’s eyes. The fear.

Billie sees it too. “Can you? Everyone’s fleeing Dunwall right now. Passenger fare is at its highest in decades and still climbing.” She pushes a stray curl back from her face. “And that’s not considering the scams. How many tickets are bought, and how many ships depart without their holders? How many people approach the docks only to find that the ship they bought passage on doesn’t exist?” She leans forward. “Those are only the scammers with a conscience. So many refugees don’t make it to their destination. Sometimes they ‘run into’ pirate ships a few miles out to see, the passengers raided for their valuables, sometimes enslaved, sometimes thrown overboard-”

“Okay, okay.” Slackjaw waves his hands. “I get yer point.”

“I have friends,” Billie continues readily. “I can get your family on a ship out of here. And I can guarantee that it’s legit. They won’t be in any danger, you know, aside from the usual dangers out at sea. Storms, scurvy, giant krakens-you know, the usual.”

“Krakens. You know, my second oldest wants to be a whaler.” Slackjaw smiles to himself. “She wanted to be a pirate at first, but I talked her into some-ting more reliable. Jess is her name. Named after our fair Empress. I ask their mamas to name ‘em after strong folk, people they admire, so they got someone to want to be like.”

“You said you have five kids?” Daud asks quietly.

Slackjaw nods. “All daughters. Strange, how that go. After the first I started hopin’ for a son, but now I don’t care. They all come out pink and squallin’, that’s all that matters. They’ll learn to use a knife no matter what’s in their pants. Me oldest, Tina, she’s already gotten kicked out of two schools fer fightin’. Bout half yer girl’s age.”

“I’m not Daud’s girl,” Billie replies coolly. “I’ll just take a guess and say there’s five mothers?”

Slackjaw chuckles at that. “Four. Two be twins.”

“And including your own mother?”

“Ma’s old.” Slackjaw shakes his head. “She won’t do well on a ship. I got her set up in an apartment, gets seen by a doctor, the people who help her out are watched for signs of plague...it’ll have to do. Better odds than puttin’ her on a boat and hopin’ she makes it.” He presses his lips together. “The mother of me twins, though, she has a sister she’s real close to. So get a ticket fo’ her, in me ma’s place.”

Billie nods. “So passage for ten people. I can arrange that.”

“You do that, and you got your elixir deal.”

“Great. I’ll head to the docks first thing tomorrow.”

“Then there’s just one more matter to see to,” Daud says. “What  _ you  _ want in exchange for taking care of the Pendleton twins.”

“I know what I want as payment.” Slackjaw says, his eyes on Billie. “I want her.”

Billie pretends to examine her nails through her gloves. “You want my head or in your bed?”

“Either way,” Daud speaks up. “The answer is no.”

“It ain’t like dat, Daud. You think I’m mad? Naw, all’s fair in love and murderin’ people for money. I put meself on the gameboard. Can’t be mad at her trying to get off a checkmate.” Slackjaw shakes his head. “But she came close. Came damn close. Got me wearing a pretty li’l smock, lookin’ all sweet and innocent, and me all relaxed and waitin’ for a shave. Wasn’t fair, like that.”

“All’s fair in murdering people for money,” Daud shoots back.

Slackjaw grins. “Alright, fine, it  _ was  _ fair. Taught me to watch meself better. But I been thinkin’ on it for the last six years. I want a rematch.”

“So if we lose, I’m down my right hand, and if you lose, then command passes to one of your underlings, of whom I have no idea will honor our agreement.” Daud doesn’t even pretend to consider. “Again, no.”

“I’m the one getting your baby mamas and daughters out of the city,” Billie shoots back. “Daud doesn’t know anyone down at the docks. Kill me and there goes their safe way out.”

“We ain’t playin’ till death, girlie. Billie, sorry. Just want a nice fair duel. Clean. We fight till one yields, and we’s yield when we go down. None of that bravado shit. You win or I win, don’t matter. We both walk away and I take care o’ them Pendletons when yer boss snaps his fingers. Sound good?”

Billie looks to him, but Daud just stares back at her expectantly. Finally, Billie shrugs.

“You want me to beat you up again? You asked for it.”

Slackjaw marches them out into the yard, Billie following with a sullen look on her face and her mask stuffed into her pocket, at Slackjaw’s behest. “These lot are a pigheaded bunch,” he’d told them. “I want them to see that the Knife’s right hand is a woman. Might teach ‘em a few things.”

“Especially when I kick your ass,” Billie had said. She hadn’t been happy about it, but she’d left the mask off.

Daud peers around nervously as Bottle Street Boys file into the courtyard. He doesn’t like them knowing Billie’s face. He doesn’t like anybody knowing  _ any  _ of his Whalers faces, but Billie relies a lot on anonymity. Her work can be compromised if anyone suspects her true identity.

The jeers start, but Slackjaw silences them with a wave of his hand. Daud acts as Billie’s second, selecting a blunt cleaver for her to fight with and inspecting the one Slackjaw plans to use on her, his own second doing the same. One of the thugs that act as a medic comes forward, and Daud has him lay out his first aid kit on a table, yawning open for anyone to take as they need. If he had prior knowledge of the duel he would have his own medic standing by, but as it was he’d have to serve as Billie’s, were she hurt. The Bottle Street one was technically honor-bound to treat her as well, but Daud never trusts the honor of street gangs.

“What are we going to?” Slackjaw’s second, a fat man whose name already escapes him, asks Daud. “First blood?”

“Oi,” Slackjaw calls. “Or just till one’s down and cries for their mama.”

“If you met my mother, you’d know I’d never cry for her.” Billie’s face is stone, examining her blunt blade.

“They’re using training blades. The only way either will draw blood is if the hilt splinters.” Daud rolls his eyes. He could point out an unfair advantage there. Slackjaw’s gang is used to fighting with cleavers, and his use proper swords. The weight and the swing, it will all be off to her. But Daud has trained Billie to adapt and make use of whatever she can find. And in any case, she would never stand for him to postpone the duel on such a technicality. Slackjaw might stop his boys from calling her a coward, but they would think it. She would know. And she would not like it.

A few thugs mumble at the concept of fighting to yield, but most nod. The Bottle Street Boys aren’t the most noble bunch, or the smartest, but they aren’t a bunch of bloodthirsty idiots like some of the gangs.

“You ready for an ass-kicking, grandpa?” Billie steps forward, cleaver raised.

Slackjaw mirrors her pose. “Been ready for six years, dame. Let’s dance.”

They step together and lightly tap their blades against each other. Then it begins.

To Slackjaw’s credit, he matches Billie for a good thirty, almost forty seconds-though Daud personally thinks that Billie is playing with him, a little bit. But then he falters, she gets the upper hand, and it’s almost tragic how quickly she beats him down.

It ends with Slackjaw on his back, Billie’s dull blade at his throat. The Bottle Street Boys are absolutely silent. Slackjaw raises his hands and lets the cleaver fall from his fingers. Shows Billie his palms.

Billie smirks. “Good fight,” she says.

“Damn,” Slackjaw breathes as Billie moves off him. “Even me best men can’t give me that kind o’ smackdown.” 

“You got old. I got better.”

He sits up, absentmindedly brushing the dirt from his hair. “You were anyone but Daud’s, I’d take ya for me own. Ain’t worth it to piss him off, or I’d offer ya a job.”

“I’ve already got one annoying old man buzzing in my head. Don’t need another.”

“Shame.” Slackjaw takes the hand Billie offers him. “Maybe next time one of me whores gives me a daughter, I’ll ask her to name her for you.” 

“Oh, Void.” Billie rolls her eyes. “If you do that, I swear I will actually kill you.”

* * *

“Your  _ client?”  _ Billie hisses later, when they’re back in his office. She’s reclining on the cushions, a wet rag tied around her upper arm where a particularly vivid bruise is forming, sipping elixir at Daud’s behest.

Daud’s face betrays nothing. “Well, what else do you want me to call her? I can’t exactly tell everyone the Empress asked for this, can I?”

Billie folds her arms, hiding her grimace when the motion pulls uncomfortably on her wrappings. “Is she even paying us?”

“I told you, this isn’t about coin.” Though Daud is fairly certain that Jessamine is planning to give him some sort of reward at the end of this. And that she would pay him. If he asked.

For some reason, Daud doesn’t really care either way.

“Then why are we bothering?”

“Because some things are more important than coin!” he snaps.

Billie is silent, and he can only imagine the things she’s thinking about him now.

He wants to talk to her. To explain, to make her understand. But Daud has no idea how to do that when he can’t put it into words himself.

He sits down next to her. Her leg is propped up on a stool-again at Daud’s insistence. Her knee is barely swollen, and it could very well just be irritated from their long journey through the city, walking and sprinting and jumping from roof to roof. But Daud doesn’t like to take chances, especially not with his second-in-command.

She takes the vial he wordlessly hands to her, glaring at the wall as she sips. Billie won’t complain about pain, but she must be hurting, and elixir will only help her heal faster. If only for that reason, Billie takes her medicine. She wants to be back to full strength as soon as possible. An injured Whaler is useless, even she understands.

“Slackjaw is probably regretting his deal now,” Daud says. “You left five bruises on him for every one on yours.”

“He’s the one that fucking wanted to fight me.”

“Probably respects you more now.” Daud glances at his lap. “That was a good thing you did. Offering to get his daughters out.”

Billie snorts. “Some assholes will do anything for their bastards. Maybe he’ll remember next time he starts making another one, what he’d do to protect them. Might make him think twice about wrapping it.”

“He’s willing to distribute elixir for free to protect his girls. Why would he avoid having any more?”

“So he wouldn’t have reason to do more stupid shit for them.”

“You don’t know Slackjaw. To him, it’s obviously worth it.”

“You let yourself get sentimental, you’re putting a leash around your own neck.” Billie tips her head back, rests her skull on the couch. “You know who told me that, Daud?”

Daud rolls his eyes. “Who?”

“You did.”

He stops. Daud turns to Billie, who has slipped her eyes closed. She’s not asleep-she won’t let herself fall asleep here, in front of him. Even as a recruit, Billie would not sleep in the communal dorms. She slept in barricaded closets, on rooftops and in weird little hidey holes. Daud can count the number of times he’s seen her actually sleeping on one hand, and all of them involved an injury and her being drugged halfway to the Void.

Daud leaves his office as silently as possible. Billie needs her rest, but she won’t go to bed even if he orders it.  _ Especially  _ if he orders it. So he leaves and hopes she falls asleep of her own accord.

He lights up a cigarette as he walks, frowning. The Flooded District smells worse with each passing day, and it seems like the buildings themselves are wearing away. Which in some cases they literally are, from water and wind, crumbling plaster and shifting foundations, history and industry worn away brick by brick. It seems like every week they need to put up more walkways, more reinforcements of their existing structures. It’s unpleasant, but it works for them now. Daud wonders how long it’ll be until the district starts coming down around them.

Perhaps he can use this deal with Jessamine to get them into a new hideout. She can’t grant him a pardon, but maybe he can arrange for some little hamlet in some corner of some shitty district to come under new ownership. Someplace where the Watch has little reason to patrol, where they can pull the shutters and use their surroundings to make it look like no one’s home.

The Flooded District is perfect for comings and goings, and there is a sort of peace of mind in knowing they’re outside the general reach of the city, but truthfully it didn’t help them much. He still has to post sentries, mostly to watch for looters. Overseers were always a threat, but it would be difficult for them to mount a large assault here. Secrecy was crucial, but when secrecy came at the cost of their safety, he-

A splash jerks him out of his thoughts, followed by peals of laughter. Daud drops his cigarette into the water and is off.

The three boys are crowded around the edge of a walkway, the dropoff a good twenty feet above the water. They titter as they pull on the rope, then feed it back down. Daud steps behind them and folds his hands behind his back.

Coleman is the one that notices Daud. His eyes widen and he whips back around, smacking the other boys in the shoulders. “Guys, that’s enough. Pull him up.”

“Already? He’s not even drowning yet,” Rapha complains. “I want him to really freak out down there!”

“What are you doing?”

The boys jump a foot in the air, all three releasing the rope. Daud brings his foot down on the end before it shoots off the edge of the walkway, his eyes roving from boy to boy. Coleman, Sean, and Rapha. All had earned their blue coats. All were mercs before they ended up in the Whalers. The mercs were always good at the job. But they always carried themselves like they were above everyone else.

“Fishing,” is what Sean replies. Has to nerve to look him in the eye.

“Whoever it is, pull them up. Now.”

They pull the rope up under Daud’s watchful eye, hauling up a small boy whose hands have been tied behind his back, a rag stuffed in his mouth and the length of rope tied around his ankles. They pull him up by the back of his shirt and deposit him on the floor. One of the younger ‘recruits’, Daud recognizes. He instantly takes a knee and pulls the soaked gag from his mouth, turning him over so he can spit up what seems like a gallon of water.

“Breathe. Don’t try to move.” Daud smacks him on the back, causing him to expel even more water. Daud produces one of his utility knives to cut his bonds, freeing the boy’s hands first before his feet. Only then does he stand back up and face the men.

They all have the sense to look scared, even Rapha. Daud folds his arms.

“We were just having fun,” Sean says to his feet.

“Were you now?”

“We just wanted to fuck with him a little,” Rapha says more boldly. “Toughen him up.”

“And drowning him was supposed to accomplish that?”

“We weren’t gonna kill him. Just...show him he needs to quit being a wimp. He should fight back.”

“So what I’m getting is that three grown men, all who are trained combatants and experienced in restraining someone, set upon someone who is a third of their size, held him down, tied him hand and foot, and then threw him off a bridge. And in your minds, he’s at fault because somehow he was supposed to stop you?”

“You told us it was up to us to defend ourselves.” Sean raises his chin. “To either fight back or to take it.”

“Yes, with people your own size.” Daud points down at the boy. “How is he supposed to fight back? He can’t protect himself against three of you. You  _ know  _ he can’t.”

“What, like Overseers would have held back because he’s a kid? They would have been like, hooray, easy kill.”

“That’s true, they would. And in general, I think people strive to be  _ better  _ than Overseers. Are you saying you’re all happy sinking to their level?”

The three look at the ground, either out of embarrassment or fear. Daud rubs his eye. “To the gate at the end of the boulevard to the other end. Swim it.”

“For how lo-”

“Until I feel like letting you stop,” he snaps. “Go. Water’s not going to get any warmer.”

The three look at each other. Coleman begins removing his jacket. “Nope. Leave that on.” Daud flicks his hand. “If you start drowning, wait and freak out a bit before you try and save yourself.”

The three disappear in a puff of black smoke. Daud kneels down and helps the boy to his knees. “Hang in there. You’re Bryan, right?”

Bryan nods. “With a Y,” he says weakly.

He’s one of the very newest recruits, one Daud hasn’t had much time to oversee. He’s not even sure if Bryan’s started combat training. The kids they’ve taken in lately are mostly starved, parents dead of the plague and left to dodge dead counters and scavenge for edible garbage off the streets. He knows Bryan is probably around ten to twelve, but he looks maybe eight. He’s far too short and the bones of his chest still stick out from his skin. The kids are all coming to them like that. It’ll take time for them to even have the strength they’ll need to survive rigorous combat training, much less have the power to fight. Time and food in their mouths, consistently.

Even with so many orphans and fewer alternatives for Daud to shove them off at, the amount of kids living with the Whalers is much lower than usual. And they’re older than normal. Bryan is likely the youngest out of all the kids they have. Daud knows why. He doesn’t like to think about how easily the little ones fall to the plague. How so many go hungry, with no one alive to feed them, too short to unlock doors and too weak to cry for help. How the little bodies are the first to be crushed once loaded onto the corpse carts, even if they were moving first. He doesn’t like to think about it, but he knows why.

“How are you feeling, Bryan with a Y?”

“I...okay.” He doesn’t meet Daud’s eye. “You didn’t have to help me. I can take it.”

“I know. But you don’t have to.”

“You didn’t have to punish them, they’re...they were just trying to make me tough.”

“No. If they wanted to toughen you up, they’d have offered to spar with you.” Daud puts his hand on Bryan’s shoulder. “They just wanted to hurt you. Don’t mistake the two. Sometimes progress hurts. But not all pain is progress.”

“I haven’t started sparring yet.” Bryan pulls his legs in, wrapping his hands around his knees. “Miss Misha showed me a few tricks, but Mister Kieron doesn’t want me fightin’ anything until my weight’s up. Said my bones are too weak.”

“He’s right. I’ve seen skinny kids like you snap their arms in half in sparring accidents.”

“I gotta learn though. They were right, I gotta be able to fight back.”

“You’re not going to be able to take them for a while. A  _ long  _ while.”

“But I don’t want them to-”

“Don’t worry about them anymore.” This isn’t the first time they’ve been dicks. The next time Daud is going to have to start taking fingers. “Your job right now is to go to your lessons, do your chores, and get stronger. Right now it’s everyone else’s job to protect you.”

“I don’t  _ need  _ to be protected,” he insists. “None of the others do.”

“Bryan,  _ everyone  _ who joined as young as you needed protection at some point in time.”

“...Really?” His eyes are huge.

“Really. Even Thomas. Even Quinn.”

“Even Lurk?”

Well...not Billie. Billie is the only street kid that came to them at that age and size and never got help. Not that she didn’t need it. People were quick to catch on that Daud liked her. And there were far fewer women in the ranks back then, so she had that to deal with as well. Most of the others understood she wouldn’t have ended up there if she wasn’t tough and respected her like they would any new recruit, but there were a few that seemed delighted to torment her. Daud didn’t know about it because Billie is Billie and she was too proud to come tattling to him about it. He only learned later on when some of the  _ boys  _ started complaining to him about black eyes or teeth she had punched out.

Billie was always different though. Billie was tiny and weak and she came to them with no fear. She fought back because she was past caring about what happened to her. She fought because all she had left was anger. She had reasons for being like that. And they weren’t things anyone else should go through.

“Nobody has gotten anywhere without help. Bryan,” Daud tells him. “Aim to not need it. But if you do, there’s no harm in accepting.”

Bryan smiles, a tight-lipped thing that shows no teeth.

“They pull you out of bed? Go get some sleep. Your lessons don’t start until afternoon anyway.”

“I’m on dish duty this morning,” he says.

“Those three woke you up in the middle of the night, they can take on your chores for the day. Don’t worry about it.”

He helps Bryan up, walking with him in the direction of the recruits’ dormitory.

“You’re not that scary,” Bryan says, staring at him with careful eyes. “Not in a bad way.”

“I can be scary when I need to be.” Daud lights another cigarette. “I just don’t try to be when I don’t need to.”

* * *

“I’m heading out.”

Daud raises his eyes, jerking back so swiftly his head nearly rolls off when he sees Billie with her tits out. “Could you have possibly found anything more revealing?”

Billie rolls her eyes. “It’s Fugue, Daud.”

“I’m aware. I just didn’t think corsets were your thing.”

A red, lacy corset that shows off obscene amounts of her cleavage. She’s wearing a jacket over it, but it covers nothing of her chest.

“That’s the point. If you saw someone wearing this, you wouldn’t guess it was me, right?”

“I’m sure that’s the entirety of your reasoning.”

“When this is over I swear I will cover myself with a potato sack for a whole year so you can go back to pretending I’m just a block of wood underneath. Okay?”

Daud rolls his eyes. At first he thinks to himself at least she’s wearing sensible pants, but they’re baggy enough that Daud knows they’ll be removed as soon as the feast is rung in. Likely she has something more scandalous on underneath. He’s grateful she at least decided to spare his eyes that.

It’s not that Daud minds, it’s just that...no, he minds. Billie is not a whore. He put a knife in her hand to ensure she wouldn’t end up as one. Seeing her dressed like a streetwalker, seeing in his mind the way women dressed like that were thought of and treated, it just...rubs him wrong. He doesn’t like thinking of her like that. And he knows she deserves more respect than what she’ll inevitably receive in that get-up.

But it’s her life. If she wants to dress like a cheap courtesan for Fugue, it’s her choice. She knows what the outfit implies, and he knows she can defend herself if it comes to it. It’s Fugue, and Billie can do whatever the hell she likes. But Daud doesn’t have to like it.

“Tell me you’re at least wearing a mask.”

“No, I plan on posing next to all my wanted posters and doing fingerguns. Of course I have a mask, Daud.”

“Just checking.”

She’s straightened her hair. Without the curl to it, her hair hangs down past her shoulders. She looks good with long hair, but Daud misses the curls. She never lets it get too long. Can’t. Long hair was nothing but a handle on your head, a handle that could get caught and be yanked around at another’s mercy. Not much point in doing your hair anyway if you’re just going to hide it under a hood.

Billie pushes her hair off her shoulder, thick and rich. “I’ll be back after they call for atonement,” she says, turning away. “Can’t promise I’ll be sober.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Enjoy your own Fugue Feast, Daud. Don’t read too many books.”

Daud picks a cigarette butt out from his ashtray and flicks it at her. Billie sidesteps it, smirking at him.

“Have fun, Lurk. Don’t get yourself knocked up or you’re out of a job.”

“I get knocked up and I’m coming after your ass for child support.” She flips him the finger as she walks out. “Night.”

Daud smiles to himself. It’s common banter between the two of them. He doesn’t fire anyone for getting pregnant. And if it happened with Billie, the extent of Daud’s response would be arranging for her to see the doctor he used to take care of such problems.

He sifts through his ‘paperwork’ for another half hour before he decides to turn in. Contracts always dry up every year around Fugue, with a lot of people deciding to just try their own hand at the whole murder thing on a day they know they can get away with it. His paperwork lately has consisted mostly of intel reports, and if something was urgent his scouts would bring his attention to it, so there’s nothing on his desk that can’t wait. The drop-off is always followed by a large spike, however, as the people who intended to carry out their killings on Fugue lose their nerve, as people seek revenge on the ones that didn’t, as jealous spouses decide to do away with lovers or sometimes the other way around. They will be very busy in the upcoming month, with all the contracts that will come pouring in before midnight on the first. And with the big job.

But he doesn’t want to think about the job. It’s Fugue. Daud may not partake in most of the activities associated with the holiday, but in the end it’s a day meant to shed your constraints and enjoy yourself. He can abide by that.

He shoves his hands into his pockets as he walks, nodding at the Whalers on patrol. Enough of them volunteered this year, thankfully. Daud doesn’t like having to use sentry duty during Fugue as a punishment-or, as he had to do one year, draw straws. Angry sentries don’t typically make good lookouts; too busy pouting to pay attention to their surroundings. And he’s yet to have a sentry abandon their post on Fugue, but if it happened Daud would have to address it. He doesn’t relish the thought.

The children are housed in one of the main buildings, at the center of their hideout. It’s a relatively intact building, quite literally could not be breached without taking one of the outerbuildings, and had a straight shot down to the sewer level. They could be easily evacuated if the hideout came under attack.

As it is, the children are simply gearing up for bed. Or they should be-their minders are all off duty tonight and the kids seem to be taking advantage of the fact.

“Daud!” Layla grins and waves to him with two hands, her knees pressed into her mattress.

He waves back at her. Layla is probably around thirteen, and she looks about half that. She’s too short, too skinny, too small all over. She’s been putting on weight, at least, but she hasn’t really gotten any taller. She still has a lot of growing to do.

Ah, but she’s a firebrand. Daud was the one who brought her back to the hideout and she’s made him laugh, so she knows not to be afraid of him.

Bryan is laying on his stomach, reading a book-or at least making the effort, Daud is fairly certain Bryan has only just begun learning how to read. His big eyes watch Daud as he moves, taking in everything.

The other boys stop their roughhousing the moment they hear Layla’s greeting, laughter swallowed in their mouths and straightening themselves up. There’s three of them. Judah, Quincy, and Lee. He’s not sure if Judah and Quincy are brothers or cousins or what, but it was clear from the beginning that they had grown up close. They had accepted Lee into their fold almost immediately, however, and now the three are inseparable. Inseparable and a pain.

They’re not bad kids-really, they’re not. They’re just...they’re thirteen, fourteen-year-old boys. That in and of itself is practically a mental illness.

“Daud!” Quincy attempts to straighten out a lamp and nearly knocks it off the table. “We were just-”

“Just playing, I’ve heard it before. Save it for the sparring ring, there’s far less chance you’ll set the place on fire that way.” He eyes Quincy, hands still on the lamp, then looks around the room. “Where’s Cerise?”

“Outside.” Judah shrugs. “Being weird.”

“What does ‘being weird’ entail?”

“I dunno, girl things.”

“I think she wanted to be alone,” Bryan says quietly. “She’s out on the walkway.”

Well, he can’t blame her for that. Sharing a sleeping space with five other people gets old. She probably just wanted some damn quiet.

“We were just about to go to bed,” Quincy says quickly. “We already brushed our teeth.”

“No you didn’t!” Layla calls from the other side of the room.

“Narc!”

“It’s fine,” Daud tells them. “It’s the last day of the year, you don’t have to go to bed on time.”

Quincy blinks at him. “Really?”

“You don’t have lessons tomorrow and nobody has chores, so you all can sleep in as long as you want.” He sits down on an overturned crate. “But you really should brush your teeth. You don’t want to end up with teeth like mine.”

“Didn’t you lose your teeth from a bonecharm?”

Daud reaches over and ruffles Layla’s hair. “Just three of them. The rest are just bad because I didn’t take care of them.”

“I never had to brush my teeth before,” Lee says, sitting down on the floor. “Maw never did either.”

“How many teeth did your mother still have?”

“...Not a lot.”

“And that’s why we gave you a toothbrush.”

Lee frowns. His teeth are already rotten-in all honesty, they’re probably not going to be able to save them, but they can try. 

He needs to find a dentist interested in pursuing a life of crime. Maybe one in ten of his Whalers have decent teeth.

“So who usually gets you in bed on time?”

“Patrick.” Judah shrugs. “Sometimes Tynan comes up to say goodnight, but she’s kind of mean about it.”

Tynan’s job is not watching the kids, so that’s weird. But Tynan herself is weird, so Daud doesn’t think much about it. “She doesn’t mean anything by it. She works with guns and hot metal all day, it does weird things to your head.”

“I wanna make swords and stuff all day,” Lee says, pouting. “It looks like fun.”

“It’s a lot of work. Maybe you should help her out for a week, or Little Thomas in the armory.” Little Thomas, while actually slightly older than Thomas, would still be the Little Thomas by default as he’s physically smaller than the original Thomas, but even though they joined relatively around the same time people grew used to just calling Thomas by his name. When Little Thomas joined, his name was Mary. Daud still wishes he had picked an original name, but it works. Little Thomas is missing an arm and has never really adapted to using his remaining one for his sword, so Daud doesn’t send him out in the field anyway. Easier to keep them straight when one’s just in the armory all day.

“Tynan sometimes tells us weird stories,” Layla says, kicking her feet. “My favorites are the ones about drifters and outlaws out in the Serkonan desert.”

“I’ve lived there, you know, and I can count on one hand the number of outlaws I see.”

“I know, but they’re fun to hear about.”

Daud leans forward. “Do you want me to tell you a story?”

Layla claps her hands. “Yes!”

“What are you, four?” Quincy scoffs. “We’re too old for stories.”

“Can you tell us a story about pirates, Daud?” Bryan sits on the edge of his mattress, excitement on his face.

Daud feels his shoulders tense. “No. No pirate stories. But I’ll tell you one with sailors.”

So Daud sits there, weaving a story with his voice and hands about a brother and sister who sailed around the Isles, with a sea monster and the sister falling in love with a mermaid. Bryan and Layla watch with rapt attention, gasping when he raises his hands to simulate a giant wave and laughing when he speaks in a low, growling voice to imitate the sea monster. The older boys sit off on their own, trying not to look like they’re listening but watching him all the same. He ends it with the sister eating a piece of magical kelp, giving her a tail and allowing her to be with the one she loves, the brother sailing home and telling the story to their mother.

“That’s still a sad story,” Bryan says when it’s done, frowning. “Doesn’t the mom miss her?”

“Yes, but she always knew they’d go on to have lives of their own. She can miss her and still be happy for her.”

“I think it’s sweet.” Layla preens. “But will she be able to use her sword underwater?”

“You know, I don’t actually know that. I would assume not, but maybe merpeople don’t need weapons.”

“I still think it’s sad. She can’t ever see her family again.”

“Well, maybe you’ll think differently when you’re older.” Daud stands up. “Or not. Depends. Is Cerise still outside?”

“She’s probably still crying,” Lee says, rolling his eyes.

Daud looks over to them. “She was crying? Why?”

“I dunno, she just ran out.”

“She’s probably just being a girl.” Judah shrugs. “They cry about everything.”

“Hey!”

“Not you, you’re a cool girl!”

“Crying isn’t a girl thing,” Daud says sharply. “And there’s no shame in it. Now you three need to brush your teeth, for real this time. Go.”

Daud ducks through one of the windows out onto the walkway. Cerise is not a typical recruit. She’s quiet, keeps to herself, and has a distaste for violence. Daud doesn’t expect her to join them when she’s old enough to be given the choice. And that’s fine. She does her chores in exchange for her lodging, so she doesn’t owe him anything. The informal education she’s receiving from Julian will help her in whatever she goes on to do, and she’ll be able to use what they teach her about fighting to defend herself. She’ll be better off for her time here, but Daud doesn’t think she’s enjoying it. Normally he’d have found another place for her, but with the plague he’s run out of options. It’s either take them in himself or leave them to sicken and starve. And he refuses to do that.

Cerise might very well not want to talk to him. And Daud isn’t going to force her to. If she wants to be left alone, he’ll leave her alone. He just wants to make sure she’s alright.

He spots her with her back up against the railing, knees pulled up to her chest and her face tucked into the space between them. “Cerise?”

Cerise’s head jerks up. Her eyes are puffy and red, her hair sticking out from her head-her hair was probably beautiful once, long and golden. When she was brought back to base it was all tied up in a knot and coated in grease. Quinn was so sweet about it-they would never get all those knots out, it would be impossible to get it clean and harder still to keep it that way, it was a hazard to her own health and it would grow back eventually. She had to cut the knot right from Cerise’s head because she literally could not get it to unwind. The awful haircut is growing out now, at least, but it still looks rather silly.

“Daud.” Cerise sniffs. “I didn’t think you’d come out here.”

“What’s wrong?”

Cerise bursts into tears. “I’m dying.”

Daud takes a knee in front of her. “What makes you say that?”

With another sniff, Cerise lifts up the bottom of her long shirt. Then Daud sees her grey pants are stained red around the crotch.

“Oh.” Daud blinks.  _ “Oh.” _

“You see?” she whimpers. “Something inside me is bleeding. I’m going to die.”

“No, no, Cerise, you don’t…” Daud looks around, feeling his face burn. “That’s not-well, actually, that’s kind of true, but it’s not-”

Cerise just starts crying more. Daud presses his lips together and looks up at the sky.

He does understand that they’ve created the perfect conditions for this kind of situation with taking in young, underfed and uneducated girls and feeding them properly for the first time in their lives. But he really wishes Julian would ensure the girls got this part of their biology lesson  _ before  _ they had to confront it. This is not the first time this has happened. Unfortunately. And no matter how many times it happens to Daud, he still has no idea how to deal with it.

Usually, however, he can push it off on one of the girls. Quinn and Misha are both quite good at playing big sister. And they are both off tonight. As is Galia, Akila, Pavel, Jordan-Leonid is up on the rooftops, but she had her tongue cut out as a child and Cerise doesn’t know sign. He wouldn’t ask Billie even if she was here. She could probably give Cerise this talk, but he doesn’t trust her to be tactful about it. Would Tynan be down in her workshop? She doesn’t like people, so going out for Fugue doesn’t sound like her thing. No, he remembers Little Thomas saying something about trying to steal Overseer hounds together. Little Thomas could probably explain this better too.

Well. He can’t just let the poor girl cry to the moon for two days straight.

“Cerise. Cerise, look at me.” He places his hands around her shoulders. “You are  _ not  _ dying.”

She sniffs. “How do you know?”

“Because all girls go through this. Almost all of them. Every month, and nobody’s died from it yet.”

“Every  _ month?”  _ Cerise looks down in horror. “I don’t have that much blood!”

“You do. It’s perfectly normal, trust me.” If anything, it means she’s finally at a healthy weight. She was definitely old enough to bleed already.

_ “Why?!” _

“I’m not really...it has to do with your reproductive organs. What you’ll use to grow babies,” he adds, seeing her blank look. “If you ever want to do that.”

“I want to be a mom. But not  _ now.” _

“You won’t. Not for a while.” Daud glances around. “Look, one of the older girls will be able to do a much better job explaining all this to you.” She is going to be so embarrassed that a man had to talk to her about this later on. Poor thing. “Do you trust me when I say you’re not dying, and that this is a completely normal part of growing up?”

Cerise glances down at the floor, and she nods.

“Good. So...ask Misha about it, when she gets back. She’ll help you with everything you need. For now you should...go wash yourself up, change your pants. Just...throw those ones out. It’s not a big deal.” Bloodstains are a pain to get out, and normally they can’t afford to care about stained clothes but he considers this unwearable. Cerise would likely outgrow this pair soon anyway, and Layla and Bryan won’t fit into her current clothes for at least another year or two.

“But the blood…”

“Put a rag in your underwear.” There were fancy disposable pads which would probably be much less embarrassing for her, but they can’t afford that shit. “Fold it up and it’ll absorb the blood. Misha might have a different way of taking care of it, she’ll show you.”

Cerise still looks rather confused, but she’s stopped crying. Daud gives her a hand up, helping her straighten out her shirt to cover the bloodstains before turning back towards the kids’ dorm.

Daud leans down to talk into her ear. “If any of the boys are mean to you about it, let me know. I’ll beat them up for you.”

That makes her giggle. Just a little. But it brings a smile to her face. Daud ruffles her hair. Things are okay.

* * *

Billie returns wearing someone else’s shirt and no pants.

“Please tell me you at least started off the night wearing something on the bottom.”

She puts her hands on her hips. “No, Daud, I thought it would be a great time to have my bare pussy out in the middle of Dunwall.”

“You did have pants when this started, right?”

“I had shorts.”

Good enough.

Billie plops onto his couch, spreading her legs leisurely. Daud grimaces from behind his desk. “And what makes you think I want to look at your panties?”

“I was going to give you my report.”

“I don’t want to hear about your night, Lurk. Go take a...bath or something, sleep off your hangover.”

Her hair is in the final stages of ‘frizzing the fuck out,’ and her lipstick is half smeared across her chin. “I didn’t even get that drunk. Daud, I have a report for you. Are you going to listen or not?”

Daud sighs and gets to his feet. “Fine, but put some pants on first.”

“I’m not going all the way back to my room just because you’re a prude.”

“And I’m not going to sit here and stare at your crotch. Just go upstairs and put on a pair of mine. Please.”

When Billie warps back down Daud has a washcloth soaked and wrung out for her, and he throws it at her as soon as she’s within distance. “Here. Wipe that garbage off your face.”

“Why?”

“Because you look like a two-penney whore like that and I can’t take you seriously.”

If Billie’s offended, she doesn’t show it. She wipes the make-up from her face, draping the wet towel over the back of her neck. “You want to know who I spent half of yesterday with?”

“Not particularly, but I have a feeling you’re going to tell me anyway.”

“Lydia Boyle.”

That makes Daud blink. He leans forward, elbows braced on his desk. “I wasn’t aware you were still...seeing her.”

“We’re off and on. She thinks I’m a high-class escort named Marisol. I’m her ‘spicy’ and ‘exotic’ escapade.” She rolls her eyes. “Lydia’s actually not that bad, just kind of ignorant. She’s fun after a shot or two, and she gives nice presents.” She holds up her left wrist, now adorned with a silver and sapphire bracelet.

“That’s very pretty. I’m sure she gave it to you fully intending for you to immediately sell it on the black market.”

“Hey, I don’t do that for all her gifts. I kept the pearl fan she gave me.”

“Do you have a point, or was all this an elaborate way of asking me to pawn your new bracelet for you?”

“I talked to her.” Billie sits up straighter. “About Waverly.”

“...During the Fugue Feast, you tattled to your consort about her little sister’s shady affair?”

“She’s using the Boyle’s family fortune to finance Burrows’ bullshit, don’t you think her sisters have a right to know?”

“She’s a Boyle. It’s her money.”

Billie shakes her head. “Esma controls the finances. She’s the smart one.”

“I thought she was the promiscuous one.”

“She can be both, Daud.” Billie relaxes in her seat, pulling the ends of the rag up and tying it off at the top of her head. She sighs at the relief from the heat. “Lydia will talk with her, and Waverly will almost certainly be cut off. You’re welcome.”

“What in the Void did you  _ tell  _ her?”

“Not the truth, don’t worry.” Billie rolls her eyes. “I told her Waverly was involved with Burrows, and that she was funding some of his...illicit dealings. I left it vague, with some child diddling implied. She was exactly the right amount of horrified.”

“And how did Marisol find out about all this?”

“Marisol is an escort of  _ refined  _ tastes, Daud. She learns a great deal through her work.”

“So she fucked Burrows.”

“An escort doesn’t  _ fuck.  _ But yeah, she banged him like a drum set. She opened her legs and he opened his mouth. At least as far as Lydia Boyle knows.”

“We weren’t going to do anything about Waverly.”

“We weren’t. But Burrows is getting his ducks in a row, and this whole thing might go over smoother if we shoot a few in the line-up. Less chance of catastrophic failure if his golden goose has stopped laying her silver eggs. Just a little safeguard for us. Now even if Kaldwin double-crosses us, he can’t afford his bullshit coup. You’re welcome.”

Daud sits back in his chair, dumbstruck. “You didn’t have to work on Fugue.”

Billie lights up a cigarette, putting her boots up on his couch as she reclines. “But I did.” She blows out a puff of smoke. “What would you do without me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: I want to write something that gets across how cold Daud really is.
> 
> Also me: 'never writes anything that shows off what an asshole he is'
> 
> Like, to be fair I completely understand that he's a rat bastard. But he's also the guy who tells orphans bedtime stories because he remembers what it's like to be young and scared. Maybe in future chapters we'll dive more into his assholery.
> 
> Billie is featured a lot because she's dead in my other fic AND I MISS HER.
> 
> I have waaaaay too much fun writing Slackjaw's dialogue. Also he respects women here-ever since I had the idea of him having a bunch of illegitimate daughters I've just really come to like the idea of Slackjaw holding his first baby girl and being like, "wait, the patriarchy IS bullshit." So like, he's not perfect but he tries. I really wanna know the story behind Billie almost killing him. I feel like Daud is the type to never let a contract go unfulfilled, so if Billie fucked one up he would have taken over. Since Slackjaw is still alive, it probably wasn't an assignment. But Billie seeing Slackjaw walk into a barbershop and going "dad will LOVE this" and immediately trying to take his head off is completely in character. She's like a cat that brings her master dead things as presents.
> 
> I need to make a list of all the Whalers and their roles, because as of right now I'm choosing names from the wiki list at random and using them as needed. So I may fuck up and apply the same name to what's supposed to be two different characters. I'll work on it.

**Author's Note:**

> Someone: 'says something extremely racist/sexist/homophobic'  
> Daud: 'stares straight into the camera like he's in The Office'
> 
> So this is something I've kind of been whittling away at on-and-off since last summer. I wouldn't say I'm tired of The Red Queen, because I'm certainly not; I just felt like I was sort of getting too far away from the source material. I mean, Daud's going to be different because his backstory diverges from canon and the power balance between him and Billie is shifted, so like...him acting differently makes sense in the context of The Red Queen, but it felt like it could easily be interpreted as not understanding his character very well. So I kind of wanted to write something with him closer to the actual canon. Or at least...it starts close to canon. Character development is bound to happen.
> 
> Also I wanted to write something a little lighter and less death-heavy. (I haven't even gotten to the chapters in The Red Queen where everybody dies and it's still depressing) Yeah, I attempt happy and light and I get this brand of crap-ass misogyny. I can't write nice things.
> 
> We don't really see Billie laying on the charm...ever, but she seems to have quite a web of connections. I'm sure part of it is just her just getting involved in other people's dirty work, but she's friends with a lot of people I can't see meeting her that way. People like her, for some reason. So even though we don't see it, I'm convinced she has some people skills. She has low Charisma but high Speech, okay? It's one of her tag skills.
> 
> Not sure how long I'll really keep this up for. I have an idea for an overarching plot but I don't know how well I can pull it off without making it too much like certain storylines in The Red Queen. Also it would end up being rather Daud and Billie centric and I feel like I might be writing about that relationship too much. (projecting daddy issues onto fictional characters, everyone!) And my original idea contained some explicit scenes and I suck at writing those. So basically, I have 23719287 reasons not to publish this...and I'm doing it anyway.
> 
> I have the second and third chapters written, but nowhere close to being ready to release. Don't expect any type of regular update. The Red Queen doesn't even get regular updates and finishing that story takes priority over this one.
> 
> :)


End file.
